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Music Box


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Shimmering beads of amber,
shining staffs of gold,
make the tiny music box,
such a precious thing to hold.

Pristine strands of notes,
dance upon the wind,
crying out so joyfully,
about each place they've been.

From high to low,
chasing up and down,
the notes swirl and twirl,
and float around.

Its music in my mind,
entwined in dreams I know,
tomorrow becomes a thought,
of the things I loved so.

Behold, the ballet dancer,
as she turns about so slow,
it brings back such memories,
and sets my heart aglow.

With each clear sweet note,
a tear falls from my eye.
Blessed be the music box,
even though it makes me cry.

I shut the lid and close it tight.
The lovely song has fled,
Yet the beauty of the past,
still tumbles in my head.

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