My fingers press on silent outstretched strings,
resounding high as gliding bow descends
I feel the wonder though my hands lack wings,
immobile due to palsy's cruel bends
My artist's soul is now bereft of hope
So many losses darken all my days
My friends depart in silence; who can cope?
I sit and ponder future's hidden ways
A living death's erosion must not root
Impaired confreres find strength to bear and grow
I think of Milton's witness, strong and mute,
He waits in hope, not fear for springs to flow
Acceptance brings forth many veiled guests
New birth can now reward real seekers quests
Note: last revised on 3/19/12
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