Calculating mathematical rhythms, churning melodies
into them, expressing one of life's infinite mysteries
on earth.
Sitting back, easing etudes and sonatas into beds of
beauty, listening covertly all the while to an ancient
beauty of a mind's ingenuity and sacrifice.
Tending gardens of living with sunshine of giving to
a heart's remembrance, pulling out weeds of derision
and placing food for thought instead, to aid in the
growth of healthy scores of music forever on earth's
placid shores.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem