Alone, depressed, in a hospital room bed,
when out in the hall appeared a little
well-dressed elderly woman pushing a
two wheeled cart, upon which set a large,
beautiful orchestral harp, it's burnished wood
gleaming and strings reflecting a golden light.

My door was open, and she paused in the
hall and sat on a stool and began to play.
A haunting classical piece I did not know.
When she was finished, I lightly clapped
my hands together, smiled in appreciation,
She asked, "Another perhaps?"
"Yes, Clair De Luane if you please"

She wheeled her harp a little into
my room. Settled herself and began to
play. After only a few cords the lovely
melody refrain reached deep into me,
and I began to unashamedly weep.

The frustrations of confinement, operation
pain and infection, along with the depressions
of aging and loss of my youthful capabilities
came pouring out.

That little lady, her magical harp and that tune
reached deep into my soul.  I was uplifted
and renewed.