Drone

Partway through the third movement,
as the violin wept softly
beneath the sweet soprano,
I could hear the voice
in the audience:
more rumble than words,
someone very old, deaf,
unaware
that it wasn’t nap time,
hoping for tea and biscuits
in counterpoint to the soloist
who seemed to understand;
for, after all,
the music spoke of forgiveness
and that old voice
had probably earned a lifetime
of forgiveness from the soprano
who would sing again
and from us,
who would hear her.

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About riverwriter

Poet, playwright, duplicate bridge player, website designer, cottager, husband, father, grandfather, former athlete, carpenter, computer helper for my friends, theatre designer, backstage polymath, retired teacher of highschool English, drama, art, a baritone singer in a barbershop quartet, who knows what else? wordcurrents is on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/wordcurrents/ Doug also has a Facebook page, "Incognitio", related to his novels.
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