If we only knew what we were missing.
If we just understood how brief the time.
If we would comprehend, not dismissing
our patient Muse’s voice -- unknowing crime
of running from Her -- perhaps you and I
could sense in each cell great Chopin’s nocturnes:
their early rhythmic freedoms guide our eyes
to caress each human motion, return
time and again to heartbeat, pulse, soft breath
of life leading emotion to create
new metaphors for your hair’s braided wreath,
two tiny globes piercing your brow. Oh, listen
to his graceful leaps -- passion on a mission.
Roger Armbrust
July 11, 2015
