The Violinist


He fills the air with colored notes.
He paints the air with his bow stroke.

Greens and gold,
Blues and rose
Dance and glimmer
As a star might shimmer.

White, purple, and red
Flash around his head,
And rise and fall,
Spinning toward the hall,

Tugging a smile
On the lips of his love,
And pause for a moment
On the rooftop above.
And the song dims to its end.

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