The passion of the violin stretches
into a rising sound when applied with
an exactness and faith, encouraging the
verses among the notes, a clever idea of
grace filled twice.
The air salutes with respect the song,
wishing it could play through the branches
with such ease; even thunder boasts over
tympani.
The cherry orchard welcomes the taste
of music as life encircles the stars, reaching
far into the unknown with a glistening red.
Here above, there is no rain. Clear skies to
the highest of blue, touching somewhere
in the beyond, to the black lining of space.
Roger Singer 