She Plays (Poem)
#2 of Poetry
In the morning, she plays.
The bow slides across the strings of the violin, sending crisp melodies through the air.
Her soul leaps into the air, dancing upon light feet.
At noon, she plays.
She dances with a man.
She did not know him, but now, for this briefest moment, their souls connect.
At evening, she plays.
The notes are somber.
Her soul sways, heavy with emotion.
At night, she tries to play.
The chords are broken melodies.
At midnight, she does not play.
There will be more melodies in the day.
But the day
has yet
to come