In the candlelight of a foreign house,
A woman serenades Mozart, Strauss.
She caresses her instrument’s fading keys
like she caresses the child who sits on her knee.
In the speckled light of a tree-strewn yard,
a man sheds a tear to the strains of Die Nacht.
He plants a lily, as fragile as bone,
Like his mother’s kisses by the piano at home.