Playing under the willow tree,

The sweet instruments float,

Producing golden melodies,

A new feeling in every note.

I’m jealous of the musicians,

Their friends are instruments,

No one else to say anything,

About their diligence.

The deep bass supports the music,

Weaving through the music,

The violin’s notes going high,

With the hollow acoustic.

I want to play those instruments,

But little do I know,

They also want to make music,

The music through words that show.

We’re all equal musicians,

They’re making music by playing,

While I’m making music by speaking,

Sharing my words by seeking,

The melodic quality of words.

And in my opinion,

Poetry just adds a bit more,

To these musical sounds of language,

That makes us all musicians.