I hear it softly, deftly playing, silently, a sound
In my mind, in my head, it’s incessantly around.
I see her spinning, dancing lightly, on the vibrant grass
Eyes are closed, reminiscing, of a distant past.
He watches, humming absently, fingers tracing keys
The piano plays his rhythm, smiling with ease.
Music bends together and nature takes its course,
Notes all flow abundantly, teeming with remorse.
For the one who’s spinning, the one who’s long been dead
Is away in heaven, so far, but overhead.
I know she hears his playing, she listens everyday
He wonders what she thinks of him, he wonders what she’d say.
She twirls for him, forever, and his words through music sing,
She wonders if he thinks of her, whenever it is spring.
I know he sees her dancing, he watches all the time,
He sees her through the morning light, she lives in every chime.
In death he lost his dancer, his music stands alone,
Yet still she spins his melody, as if it were her own.
In death he found her spirit, so alluring, so profound
Death it took for him to hear, that silence is a beautiful sound.
