Melody of the Story

  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.