She enters her room of unplayed musical instruments
sits at the piano and places her tea on the linen doily
her gaze wanders around the room from piece to piece
morning light plays across the surfaces dulled by the dust
no strings, no brass, and no keys would yet suffice
no man-made creation yet found was equal to the task
what instrument could equal her cries of melancholia
what artifact could play what her soul needed to sing
none were worthy of accompanying her song of loss
a piece she cannot bring herself to write the lyrics to
she rose to leave her room of unplayed musical instruments
with one last look, she closed the door and turned away
perhaps it was today she would find her musical instrument