Canon in D

For him, colors flowed as freely
as the sweet, piercing music that so
stirred his soul to these heights.
The air carried the scents of the seasons
– each lovely in its own way –
just as it held aloft the Gull and the Raven,
both deserving of his love, and receiving,
though they never were wise enough to know.

His life was a tempest he never strove
to tame, an eagle content to soar forever.
And while this tempest battered and bruised,
it never broke. There was an improbable strength
in perceived fragility, in the ephemereal smiles
and fey, dark eyes that could be stirred to tears
simply because a song was beautiful
and he was not.