You ask me what this music means
And why I play it so feverishly out of my instrument.
Finishing the last, soft note I turn to you
And say,

I play for those who cannot hear.
But why? you ask. What good is that?
I express the noises of life, the feelings they cannot.

I play for those who cannot see the
Bright yellow flower, unfolding,
Revealing the light within.

And I play for those who cannot see the
Poor, dying weed beside it.

I play for those long dead and gone
Beneath the noisy, flowery ground.

It’s a sweet tune I play, drifting to the skies
Above where even you can hear me.

Is that so? you ask. Impossible!
Is it? I say. Why not play the melody
Of life and pour it onto others?

Why not soften the flower’s harsh glare
So as to protect the eyes of the weed?

And, turning away, I play for the lingering shadows.
And they whisper to me
As I have whispered to you.