Silken Serenade
CXLIX.
How I loved to play Schubert Serenade, though violin is so much lovelier than piano for it.
Serenade |ˌserəˈnād|noun
A piece of music sung or played in the open air, typically by a man at night under the window of his lover.
Below The Windowsill
The silence of the night
Was shattered by
Silken sounds
From Spanish guitar
Below the windowsill.
As from a yonder hill
It seemed to waft.
It seemed a distant world away!
Yet here he was!
Below this windowsill.
A night so soft and still,
Before he came to stir it,
How could it be
For only me
Below my windowsill?
It was a thrill -
Those magic strains
Which carried on the breeze
From ground below
That fateful windowsill.
Long ago he played until
The crack of dawn
Returned the break of day
To stir its hustle-bustle
Below the windowsill.
〰©Nellieanna Hay
Only one
Can fill my heart.
~ He alone
Makes the music start.
When he is near I glow.
His heart, his soul,
~ His mind,
His love, I know.
〰©Nellieanna Hay
I miss your silken touch,
Your fragrant skin,
Your warm embrace.
I miss your voice,
Caressing eyes,
Strong sweet face.
I miss your everything,
〰Your Self,
Which time cannot erase -
This total love.
〰©Nellieanna Hay
At twilight's magic hour
A serenade steals sweetly
Through a rosy mist,
The moment kissed
By magic imagery
Interrupted only by a chime
Somewhere afar.
Languid thoughts which are
Predominant push fore
To play upon my heart strings
Like limpid notes upon the staff
Of life's own serenade.
〰©Nellieanna Hay
