String quartets that dwarf the mountains

Pour their honeyed music down valleys of ears

Creating rivers of milk that wash and soothe

The jarred senses of the day.

 

Each note forming crisp peaks of ice

Before melting away in an avalanche of sound

Racing like mad dogs falling on their prey.

 

 Brooding in the half light bows poised

In calculated rhythm that draw from the depths

A conjured harmony sweetly washing round the walls

Echoing down the caverns of time.

 

Soft as Autumn light bathing the air in mellow rays

Fading notes fall from the spruce,maple and willow,

In gentle arcs resting as a carpet of leaves

Swishing round feet of mankind.

 

Synchronised, the players glance with knowing nods

That their precision creates a sensual assault 

Transporting the listener to a mountain and peak

To look out on these accidental Gods.

 

05/10/2021. 09:45- 10:24