THE CELLO
By pawnshop poet •
it was frigid
in the dark northern counties
a blast of winter
had rendered them solid
as cold as the suffering
of a painful disease
she sat near the warmth of a fire
hidden from the freeze
as a friend hides from a foe
a bottle of wine flickers in the flame
her dress reflects the shadows
her mood reflects the shame
she lifts the cello and plays
the notes sing from the rusty strings
the bow breaks the minor silence
a glance over the shoulder
she stares at embers in the room
glowing and getting colder
there was a ringing in her ears
the music lingered on
sorry sweet melody she sang
profound and laughing softly
the scenery played along
dancing to her name
as the notes and tunes
came to an end
were so long the days
when foolish women cried
silent sweet sorrow intense
she sank to carpet and died