In A Coffee-House Poem by Nancy Ames

Music measures four dimensions
and speaks to one who has
quietly relieved his tensions
appreciating jazz.

The heroes who abandoned thrones
search for rhythms in the dark
and, lost among the undertones,
beauty is a wandering spark.

Moaning from her rigid lips
to get what she deserves,
monotonous, the drummer grips
the trigger in her nerves.

With acoustics seeking shelter,
she's seen too much too soon,
and a melody could melt her
but jazz absracts the tune.