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
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