Kanon

The firmness of the grip

As the violinist plucks the strings.

From a quiet staccato

To a long interlude with legato.

Pieced together with the pianist

As it yields the rhythm with a

Thump thump

And the long sixteen notes hurry the motions.

The violinist with its pizzicato;

Embracing the lustrous tones

Of the black and white keys.

Quickening of the pace

Saddening of the single melodies.

Oh! If only there was an aria

That could be sung along to this music.

If only the rubato could be softer

As it leads to the next

Fermata…hold.

This art is coming to an end.

The final cadenza as the flurry of motions

Breezes and dances with the wind.

Agonizing ache of the pianofortes

And the slow diminuendo.

Finally, as harmony arises

Eyes flutter anticipating the next key

As it is much too soon!

Yet, with a deliberate ritardando

This play, this art, this feeling,

This romance comes to an end.

Fin