The Song

The Song It begins with the stroke of a harp. Melodic intonations almost unheard As the notes introduce the piece. But there is no denying it has begun. Almost fearful at first, The musician lovingly strokes the strings Slowly gaining confidence As the crowd reacts in anticipation. Only a bit, is there the harp Alone is nice, but alone is incomplete. And the flute begins to play. And so it is built up a little. As the harp speaks on love and things, The flute trills its giggle Of agreement and harmony... And the music slowly builds. Before too long, the violin breaks. It can no longer hold back! It must play along! And with a vigor unmatched it sings out in rapture. Oh what happens then! The ensemble can't stop. They all must play... It's what they do. With a building fervor, The whole orchestra is brought to life. And the music is truly A master composition, unmatched. Oh, the purity of this song! Oh the beauty of this music! It cannot be measured, It cannot be described. Only by listening can you feel What these notes can do to you. Only by playing Can you truly e xperience this joy. Ah! It swells to the rafters! The piece is exquisite in it's perfection. The pulsing beat, the harmonies sweet, This is a union of heavenly proportions! And it plays on, each new note A testament of passion. Each new beat a pulse Of a heart set free. And suddenly, it happens! A crescendo of sound, So loud it rattles the bone So pure it piercesthe heart. And the orchestra grows quiet. Almost exhausted, almost spent. But reveling in the beauty They have created together. And they pause, and breathe Taking a moment To remember this composition And prepare for the next. But even in the silence, A harmony is felt Because what is one instrument Without the others to support? And so my love I ask of you. May I have the honor Of playing with you?