What I hear


I can hear the music
To the songs you sing
It’s when I hear your sound
of gradient whispers
across the cobbled streets
down by the harbour after midnight,
with cooled blue eyes, shining
tears, the night and rain
it’s love glowing on your face,
of long passionate kisses
like the very first one
in a darkened room, alone
on hollow stone walls,
that kiss last night
love reverberating,
through my soul.

~ A 19th c Welsh fiddle of unconventional design, attributed to Owain Tudur, and now in the Boston Museum of Fine Arts


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