The keys to her soul
Stroked ivories played
To sync her whole
To heal What’s frayed
Should be a role
For which he’d trade
His own soul

His eccentric heart
Taut stretched harp string
Hold tensions apart
Cause his heart to sing
should be her art
To his soul bring
Her own heart

Together they play
Rhythm, melody and rhyme
Sung fresh each day
In perfect time
This is their way
In love, sublime
Hearts, souls, at play

About quenyar

Just another bozo on this bus.
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