Violin and Window


Light Footsteps

Whisk across the solace of the Woods.

And, lo! The Cuckoo begins to whistle.


Patiently knocks on Horizon’s door;

The Sky plays along the Hues in anticipation.



Fends to peek;

Look at Morning’s guest tread in.

A vagabond Breeze frisks the veins of the Trees;


Stride aside to behold the grand entree.





Fingers on the strings


The eyes close out


Balanced under the chin


The Bow is ready to enchant;




Hearts flutter;

Necks bend over;

Rays shudder;

Clouds line silver;


Thence takes over

Madness…. … .. .



The Violin remains gone

Yet the eyes are shut the same.

I saw him play his fingers

To keep himself sane.



Room #676




Traces of tunes