The third day of spring
brings a rolling fog
to the enchanted green hills 
of a childs heart

Your music 
travels by the mist
and burns 
through the soul
of an invisible audience

Oh! How wretched
to be told
to accept 
thatt he breath 
of the instrument
may never be tasted
and the heart
of the listener
may never be explored. 

Alas! Is this my destiny?
To long uncontrolably for the love
of the music maker
forever?
May my curious hunger
never be satisfied?

I know of the trees 
which have grown tall 
interfering in our paths, 
yet I know it is my 
duty never to climb them. 
For some things are 
better left unexplored, 
and the heart 
of the invisible audience, 
I know, 
is included. 

Why play the music for anyone
but yourself? Why?


3-23-1997 
Sarah Rose House