Yet what is music if not gently heard,
A gift that’s given, seeking hearts to take,
A tale unfolded with each vibrant word,
A world that only listening can awake.
The beauty of the art is not complete
Until it finds a soul to call its own,
For music, in the hearing, is replete,
A meeting-place where seeds of love are sown.
So let us pause and listen, truly still,
To every cadence, every fleeting strain,
For in those moments, time itself grows ill,
And beauty conquers suffering and pain.
The listener’s joy, the music’s final phase,
Completes the circle, echoes through our days.