A woman walks in slow time savoring
the images the music paints upon
her soul. On the band plays never knowing
the joy they bring one young woman’s soul. Drawn
to roam the graveyard, barefoot for all time,
she keeps the rhythm of her steps in line
with the sweet music that makes her soul chime.
The lead sings on for their patrons that dine.
But don’t see, souls weaving to and fro, ’round
the graves. A soul singing but never
heard. Her voice lost by death and never found.
Her dance unseen, felt as cold ever
drifting ‘cross the street to the strand, to kiss
the band whose playing gave her two hours’ bliss.
in response to this week’s prompt stomp: soul this is sonnet number one of a crown of sonnets I am doing for it.