The music is weaving - haunting notes pizzicato strings

Haunting notes pizzicato strings in the fading lips of morning;

Mourning;

Crying in tears that break over the keys of a hundred pianos tuning;

Turning;

To the sound of silent gears inside her moving, gently weaving;

Waving,

Relentless in the music always fading

Feeding;

Off my breath.

Notes sweep, resounding, up the staff.

A whole new cleff.

The End

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