I found you in April, a lone cherry blossom
Floating on the wind as the spring smiles.
Your hands were oddly calloused,
Your fingers scarred.
You told me that you played
The violin, and I told you,
I played none.

You played Chopin on the stage
And the music was yellow, red and light.
I saw the words in your music,
And your words became mine.
I saw colors within music,
The image of spring after
The last of summer's nights.

Your favorite piece was Love's Sorrow,
A piece you played like a lullaby.
Although I couldn't understand
Mozart, Kreisler and Liebeslied,
I found meaning in every
Note that your violin cried.

Your pieces were embedded
With the deepest loneliness,
Hidden within the pitches, tone and sound.
You eyes sparkled like the light
Upon the bluest water
Every time your bow touched
The strings of your old and loved violin.
And I'd remember how you looked
So utterly beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
During that one spring night.