cello stored in an attic
wood polished to a high sheen
but fingers that used to strum strings
have gone to haunted orbs
with Adelaide of pink pearlescent shades
in her changeling vapors
rising up past frets that once held
her cello-strings tightened
and tuned up to play dulcet notes
upon her instrument of darkened wood

she moans with wrenching sighs
longing to hold what she loved the best
fever took her to a distant place
separated her from the music she loved
and from her cello that knew
the touch of her fingers so well
I am beside you she whispers
at night to a sheet draping her cello
you will never belong
with anyone else except me