No More Music from My Cello

To stand in the corner of our busy room
So proudly is admirable
But you gather dust like the furniture

I see you from time to time, but you don’t say a say a word
You’re too stubborn to ask for freedom from the casket;
Your sweet release

Unlike someone who won’t stop asking;
Moaning and whining until I fulfil his needs
Or my own, depending on his approach

A little bit of love hurts too much
And I squirm away from his sulk
And I see you still stand lonely in the corner, gathering dust.

The End

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