Greacen029

Death of a Musician

Draw the curtains
Pull the blinds
As the house empties
Out its sounds

Its master has gone
On his long travels
And no one
Sings or talks. Revels

Are melted as snow;
Here a vast stillness
Of tongue and piano;
Golden the silence

Rich, deep. slow.
In the dead man's house
No whisper, no echo,
Nor scamper of mouse.