He breaths in deep to prepare himself
Placing the wondrous musical weapon to his shoulder.
He raises the bow and pauses
Lowering it slowly to make contact with the strings
Then the orchestra of one begins.

The sound is soft and sweet
Yet somehow sorrowful.
It touches the soul
Gently with care.
Then slows.
The music seems to pause
Then pick up in a quicker beat

His song gains an intensive edge
I almost fall out of my seat
Suddenly the tempo looses its pace
Only to slow once more
It steadies
One last note is played
And the song is closed.

Unfinished.
Missing a final part
Will he ever finish it?
I can only wonder
For I won’t ask.
He’ll let me know.

Unfinished yet beautiful
Too gentle and captivating to forget
The rhythm was etched in my mind
The instrument is lowered
And he turns
Flashing a grin in my direction.

A beautiful mystery
This is his song.