Music speaks of what has been
Burns itself into your skin
Melody laughs and threatens, cries
Thunder breaks behind your eyes
Ghosts of composers hover near
Their essence in the notes you hear
Your page is turned by ghostly hands
The past now in the present stands
Called to memory by the sound
The old ones hear, and gather 'round
The notes crescendo, old and new
And bring their faces into view
Remembering days when they were young
And pieces of their souls were sung
When tinkling arpeggios and concert themes
Were born out of their hopes and dreams
And as the last notes fade away
Their outlines slowly blur and grey
A smile, a nod, and they are gone
But memory stays, and they go on.
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