An unimposing thing am I
I soar all day in the blue sky
and when the day is gone and done
then I descend and home I run
home, where on the window sill I sit
and by the lamplight grey moths flit
they fly a pattern rhythm-driven
to the tones within God-given
sadness, sorrow split the night
the moths, one last ascending flight
echoes the unnerving strains
a broken heart's unspoken pains
a melody that weeps within
the sweet voice of the violin.
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