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Melody of the Story

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Slowly my violin cries;
As the bow weeps across the strings.
The tone swells in the air



and



the notes


drop

to the cold floor.
The readied position,
as the violin takes a
breath.

Quick;
My bow as it jumps.
Notes sing and wake the air.

A pop to my step


and a twirl to the dance,
we swirl and swing as one.

The


short




notes







chirping










sweetly.
A gentle sway to the rhythm.

The bow happily eases,
and encourages the notes from hiding.

A leisurely descent,
as the notes recede.

The air sits unruffled;







And still.





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