The back close was our winter enclave. We
Were sheltered from the wind and rain by brick
Abutments which the green gas barely touched
Before it guttered at the dark and died.
Invisibly we whispered tender scales,
or played impassioned airs with lips and tongue,
Plucking the solo strings of wild cadenzas
Out of our duet's gentle fingering.
We plumbed the fugal depths and lit the high
Sonatas' darkness bright with timpani.
Then at the rallentando's dying fall
We paused and packed our instruments away,
And set our ears to guage the double entrendres
In the hissing lamp's dim innuendos.
No comments:
Post a Comment