One of my curls resembled the nocturne for violin (and piano)…
And then he smiled and stroked my hair. A few tears fell
For the dead departed. The white lilies of the unfamiliar valley
So green, dreamily tranquil, beautiful. And so unwell.
The awakening has come late this century.
The awakening might not come at all but then this canker
Of hideous depths. When shall we learn to love again? Such
Is a life. Vicissitudes in music for which we hanker.