The music lives on…

though the musician

no more.

No Fanfare.

A Form,

not Flat –

nor Sharp.

You searched the perfect Harmony.

A Half-Step here,

A Double-Step there.

Some Major

some Minor

but each Measured

 to sweet Melody.

Self-taught, your Forte,

became our world.

Be it on guitar, the piano,

 or even the dreaded violin –

you sought permanent Fermata and Fortissimo.

Then at the peak of your song,

a celebrated Crescendo.

Nowadays, I put on your record,

I see your sway.

I feel your breath.

I hear your voice.

Our life

Our Notes

High and low.

With words carefully constructed

and the Tune perfected.

Lifting,

Lilting,

I listen.

Eerily heard,

yet silent, you sing.

Each Bar measured.

Each Beat,

a Pulse, slowed.

In the end,

your final Chorus,

spoken gently,

A Dolce divine.

Our duet, now solo…

I slowly dance.