Like bobolinks, till the year stands still
In a lyrical meadow of green and gold ...
(Violins packed in a poetry mould!)
Red violins of a summer night
Throbbing with passionate, blood-red song ...
Dead violin! Ice-bound so long ...
Soft!
Soft ... drop softly icicle tears ...
Icicle tears from the ice-bound years,
Vibrating under my strong, new roof,