Whether it was the sunβs aurelian caress Or the serene strokes of moonlight lulled Across its keys carved with much finesse Monochrome yet its beauty never dulled
A sonata lightly, it hummed, reverberating Across gently, waves of sound, resonating The tune seemed to hush the grounds Effortlessly silencing the cry of hounds
Each tap across the tonal stairs had slashed The breast of the wounded, whom had clashed Echoes of natureβs enthrallment seems to linger The music still bewitching the conducting finger
Corpses waltzing to the nightly sombre dirges Pleading to allow their rest under the birches How the sonata tortures all that it imprisons How the sonata torments all those that listens