Long, strong arms,
lifted the segments
gingerly,
gladly,
loved to help
where their strength would show.
A cherub with blond curls,
a Greek god in full bloom,
boldly hugged
the females in his train.
I was just one of them now,
perhaps the least.
A troubadour of sweet strings and voice
tearing always at our hearts.
"Bist du bei mir" the orchestra is playing on the disc, now,
sweepingly, grandly, broadly,
over and over, swelling.--But, it will not be your beautiful hands
closing my faithful eyes.
~Brigitte Mueller
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