Stage of Life

November 27, 2010
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Butterflies seem to be contained,
in my heart,
the cello pressing against me,
seems ever so heavy,
to bow in my hand,
quivers impationtly,
my mind is remembering.

Now my and cello,
meet in a,
warm embrace,
and a delicate sound,
is produced,
but with each,
bow movement,
the sound grows,
more full and complete.

I finish,
and relish,
in the appalause,
that surround me,
the light dims,
and I exit,
the closing stage,
of my life.

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