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A Slowing Melody
The melodious croon carried a tune
A simple tune that was a mellow croon
The high eighth notes of a violin
Were harmonizing above the others
The poor stringed quartet, the other night,
Read their tattered music by sheer gas light
The deeper instruments' bows bounced with
Each swift movement...
Each flick of the starving wrist
This beautiful solemn melody pored into my heart
From this tune, I could not be apart
They played, not with their weary hands,
But with their souls
With each passing note, each passing bar,
This melody, once a soft croon, was now oh so far!
It was a demading, intense pulse...then it slowed
Instead of the weeping violin that flowed...
Fading...
Vanishing...
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