If we were a symphony,
Bach or Tchaikovsky
would have so much trouble
writing you and me.
Obscurity and dissonances,
memories of resonances,
held together by half cadences--
for we know a perfect cadence ends,
and our piece isn't finished yet.
Appoggiaturas to the next beat,
steps and skips short and sweet.
No need to hold fermatas long
we've got more time and more of a song.