Sunday Sonnet, #18, 2016

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[Image by Richard Brocken]

It calls to her, prisoner in cage of

fabric.  Freedom it needs, freedom to sing

out its soul, a tale of ancestors; kings

and queens in stories of crafted wood.  Love

made the captive and from love its voice, dove-

like rises until hawk-like soars, ring

of clouds a halo to its sound.  Nothing

can surpass this created beauty of

music come from fingers rapid, mere flesh

and bone upon strings of metal gliding,

guiding the instrument to its fullness.

Released from its protective cage, a mesh

to save, together they play; an embrace

through which to reach the spheres.  Lend them your ears.

[Copyright © N R Nolan 2016]