Lost sonatas

Had we been writ three-quarter time
I could’ve waltzed you round the floor;
We might have made the perfect rhyme—
A couplet in three-quarter time,
Perhaps a score, or more.

Were we composed allegro pace
Our eighth notes would have danced!
We might have rushed up tempo, faced,
And held the note, entranced—
A coda of romance!

Across the sky time cast our stars
Yours rose, while mine had set;
Sonatas hold so many bars,
And strings possess no fret;
Still—no performance, no regret.

2013 © Brian T. Maurer



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