The violin hears as I bow
Forever drawing it to and fro
Never-ending, cycle like
Tunes of practice done just right
The violin rests, no more sound.
Skies darken and the night settles down
As I leave a wanton wanderer full of thought
It makes no difference if its sweet or hot.
The fictions of probability is what I see
To embellish the spellbound dream for me.
