My Song

The words are etched out in song,

now – a tune I know so well I may pick up

the piano or guitar, strum a few notes.

But I’ll just hum along instead,

painting in my mind with gentle strokes

to make the river flow: shades of gray glide

swiftly over rough waves, a rippling current

of long, sad notes I once wished to perfect

on my own.  But if I open my eyes and just

listen at moments of silence such as this,

I swear I can still hear those watered-down

words, gliding into the warmth.

September 21, 2012


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