He writes this opera in silence, Brahms, Chopin, Vivaldi, Rachmaninoff fill his soul endlessly, All the while he writes in silence. The legends play on, Concerto No. 5, the opera yet to be, Becoming more than their scales, adoration for those whom compose no more. Turning notes into ribbons, Maestro's mind is filled..... Violets, sapphires, roses to brass, Dance like tulips for him. Chords dance out his lips, Striking a new untold story, Tenors, Sopranos, curtains all in place While he writes in shades of Bach. This opera takes form, Maestro can see clouds like twilight, Soprano begins her tale, While in silence he writes.
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