Enjoy.
Can you hear?
The notes so fine.
A masterpiece for the ear.
The sounds drip and swirl like wine.
Drip drip drop.
Swirl.
I just stop.
And see the liquid twirl.
The notes are like wine.
Refined to the touch of the tune.
Black and white. The red wine's shine.
The recital in April, May, and June.
Notes hit each single part of your mind.
Singing chime.
Like the leaves path, they wind.
Wind to the sound of a sweet lime.
They disgust with pure beauty to you.
They smell of passion so shady.
Almost fake, yet you can't see through.
Through to point it out, and ask the lady.
The lady who plays.
She plays it so well.
Every note she slays.
Right down to the pitch, you can tell.
In this recital.
The music speaks for her mouth.
Of course, this talent is societal.
West, East, and South.
She plays the music so insane.
Like a succubus of music, a siren's song.
Almost like she came from a different plane.
There is no right or wrong.
With this music, there is only noise.
From the sound.
To the poise.
The final recital was made and found.
