Strains of sadness sift through my window.
Someone is bowing a cello strongly, sweetly, slowly
Sending out sorrow with each lethargic stroke across the strings.
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Suzanne, as I began I thought of Picasso’s The Old Guitarist from his blue period. I like the progression of the narrative through the music. I wonder though at a neighbor playing her cello loudly enough to be heard by a neighbor before and as the day is dawning. -Glen
suzanne, i was looking for one poem by you to read before moving on and picked this one without seeing i had commented on it before. just to say i enjoyed it this second time around as well. keep making music with your words. -glen