I hear the flute
Its joyful melody.
I see my wife
Our daughter Melody.
I think of my wife
And her full of life
With our daughter, Melody.

I hear the crash
And then the tuba.
I hear naught else
It's just the tuba.
I think of the life
Who destroyed my wife
Our cursed daughter, Melody.

I hear trombones
It's getting better.
I see the day
It's getting brighter.
I think of the life
That destroyed my life
My blameless daughter, Melody.

I hear the horns
Their far-spread high-notes.
But mostly horns
And mostly low notes.
I think of my wife
And the love of her life
Our damning daughter, Melody.

I hear the trumpet
The different rhythm.
It has some movement
But mostly rhythm.
It's not the same
But it'll do
My beautiful daughter, Melody.

I hear clarinets
Their soaring melody.
Reminds me so much of
My daughter Melody.
Who came out of strife
To salvage my life
My angel daughter, Melody.

A tree,
A jacaranda tree, once tall, majestic,
Its purple blossoms littering the ground,
Its fern-like leaves bring shade to all around.

The rings,
We count the rings on the stump,
As the lumberjacks drive away,
Leaving stripped branches and leaves to decay.

Years will pass,
As leaves decay, years will pass,
But not all is lost, and as the life fades away,
Something new sprouts up, something here to stay.

Dead father,
It draws life from its long-dead father,
Using its nutrients, being fed,
Life, sprouting out of stump long thought dead.

A shoot,
A growing, flourishing, feeding shoot,
Only one thing that it could be,
A massive, flowering, majestic shading tree.

All this,
From a stump, a remnant of a tree,
Life, sprouting from stump thought dead,
Replacing something very old with something new instead.