Please tell me something soft and hauntly sweet —
a spray of words (where concrete has no place
in any shape, nor shards of self-deceit)
displaying ARDOUR carved in uppercase.
Please show me something round and smoothly shaped:
No jagged edge to wear me down or raze
my face. Such rough uneven blades have scraped
their way beneath my deck as stowaways.
So why should mellifluity evade
detection by my instrumental soul?
Why has staccato often overplayed
itself while smooth legato has no role?
Please tell me something silk and skyly blue
where seraphs sing and every word is true.
© Alan Morrison, 2015