Pressing her ear against the keys
She hears the groaning of the trees
Uprooted from the home they made
Now their bare bark is displayed
Their 44 tones at her fingertips
Holding the mallets in a clenching grip
Her pulse ticks like a metronome
As the yarn embraces the xylophone
In that moment the trees are alive!
Through her music those saplings survive
The sound of doe-eyed fawns prancing
While wood nymphs are gracefully dancing
Glissandos reminiscent of a flowing creek
One can almost hear the wood speak
In the vibrations she pours out her heart
This too is a sacrifice she must impart
Performer and timber share the same fate
The pace of the beat begins to accelerate
In a flurry of notes, rhythms and emotions
The final chord is reduced to reverberations
In the climax of song she falls debilitated
Lights flicker on, her spirit is vindicated
Into focus now an audience appears
Some sit with smiles and others with tears
In reflection they take a quick pause
The silence is shattered by their applause
If you press your ears against those keys
You can still hear her whispers amongst the trees