The violin player looks for the cue
each sweep, of the bow fires and explains
sweet days of autumn rain;
beautiful, and so full of pain.
whispering shadows while the bow caresses again
stories of a place in a flutter of an eyelash
where the birds have gone away
and he loves the bare, and silent trees
and the sip of tears in the mist
loving the
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Comments 15
hopefully see you around
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