Our perfect music
Hath almost no sound
Our simplest moments
Made somehow profound
A strand of something beautiful
Runs between us like a thread
Tied before I knew you
Tied after I’m dead
The song ended without ending, left to hang on an unfulfilled chord. The effect was stunning – every ear at the fair waited, still, requiring a conclusion that the player would never satisfy. In a few moments, souls would carry on, but bitter and sweetly, unrequited.
The minstrel wiped his nose with a fist, aware only of his cause and not his effect. Even he was at a loss for what had just occurred.
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