[Note: this might be a bit overdramatic, but it is how I feel. For what that’s worth. – Owen]
I miss the days of music with my daughter;
She’s older now, and put all that away –
I miss the sound of cello and piano;
I missed it back when there was a ‘last day’ —
A last day that we’d ever play together.
She says we will again, but then delays,
As months turn into years, and there’s no music –
There’s only one of two still there who plays.
To work so hard to get so very good,
Then carelessly leave all of that behind;
To leave behind the good in us for nothing,
And let the years spin by until we find
That when we’re ready duets to resume
The other half of them is in
Their tomb