Monday, March 1, 2010

The Maestro

It’s one a.m.
He's all alone.
After the orchestra,
And the symphony
Are gone
There is
He played her heart
Like a violin
Or a cello
But broke a string.
And the music died
But nobody cried
Because nobody knew
That even a maestro
Needs to be loved
By more than
A song or two

Now it’s one a.m
He's all alone.
He could have had
And fine wine.
But he chose
A silent carousel
Of memories
And pink kool-aid.

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

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