The fingers run over black and whites,
while strings are drawn by bow in tights.
The ducts overflow as my heart swims
unto pleasurable heights that never dims.

The sound the Canon of Pachelbel brought,
a memory outside of time in heavenly thought.
A rhythm crafted by angels where harmony lies,
seared into my soul’s entity in euphoric paradise.

The harmonious instruments in waving chorus,
summoning the days when my heart is joyous.
The feel of her hand brushing my once little head,
the love that she cast upon me in words unsaid.