And like that.
She eased the piece into the groove.
Nestling it close to her lips.
Suddenly her eyes closed,
That horn came to life.
Wide-eyed and bushey tailed.
Stretching it's yawn.
It walked around, journeying to the closest city.
Taking a mid day drive,
Wiping sleep from it's eyes.
It's twelve day noon.
Vocalizing it's croon.
The conflict of working long hours.
Two jobs, a mother of one.
Getting out the bed late.
Trying to remember if she's paid this month's bill or not.
The debate of taking the day off.
Sealed inside it's case.
To sleep the day away.
This weary horn.
With the kid off to school.
She has but a minute.
A loud yawn, the release of stress from a demanding boss.
Every croon loud and long.
A testimony of deep long sigh.
The valves pressed by weary fingers.
A mother of one finds deliverance