The Music Man, he soothes; he plays all his chords in blue,
leans back his head, eyes closed, fingers of a poet.
He plays out his soul, in sonnets of electrics strings,
harmonies of rain and green. He’s made of music, mountain,
and silence, still searching for his home. His melody
so sweet that clouds rain words, lift hearts into bloom.
Miles and miles away, she sits in peace by the sea,
and the mountain tells the waves the Music Man’s song.
She hears it all, Music Man’s dreams never sleep; she collects
each note, each word, each dream, two souls – and builds a home for both.
Talking to the Clouds 