He toils all day and all year.
He takes each misgiving
and gives them momentary life,
through one lamentable tear...
Before he carries on digging.

He gets his hands *****,
as he digs through soil, earth and sweat.
No end in sight,
or he'd rather not see.
No solace he'd find,
no peace he'd let.

He only sees this expanse of land...
Of which he diligently keeps.
Tales told by dishevelled sand,
covering secrets
which he has been burying deep.

He has made this
his past, present and future.
He'd make sure that each would fit.
Tied to this grounds,
he is the worn-out keeper.
He never tells but he buries hatchets.

The box remained shut.
His fingers probe but with invisible eyes.
Finding the clasp that had forgotten the last time.
With the lid pried open,
the dancer would soon arise.

•••••

As expected, she rose...
Accompanied by a tune, truly a haunting sound.
She slid and pirouetted.
She fulfilled the promise to which she was bound.

Her routine was well rehearsed.
She embodied the music, as it carried her.
It mattered not if it was for a single audience.
She cared not if there was no other.

She performed like she might never again,
she inhaled the moment like it was her last.
She sung the song silent like she always would,
she embraced her dance like sail unto mast.

Then the melody slowed,
as the tension in the spring
played itself unwound.
This day for her, had drawn to a close...
But renewed hope for a new one is found.

•••••

He hesitated before resting the lid upon its case.
He caressed his dancer as his eyes start to smart.
His ears would yearn for the song in his head...
He would surely miss the dancer in his heart.

But he knows
when days grow dark
and filled with strife.
The music box lies ready...
And his dancer will again
come to life.