Very early stillness gave way to silence
As I listened for my pulse, wondering
How many heartbeats would pass before you are here.
The steady rhythm was legato and adagio, marking the meter,
As I count the minutes.

Quite silly these heartstrings and their music,
When strummed the tunes come unfamiliar at first,
Then, after a time, reminiscent of past glory,
But different, as the daybreak is the same every day,
But different.

So too is the music of the soul when played upon
The harp of the mind by another.
For, it is you who are the artist,
The instrument is me,
And the song is as old as time.

Tick on, my watch,
And I’ll feel you drive the day
As spewing fire pushes mountain maiden
To eastern delights
As summer’s repose gives way to fall.