Larghetto

Old wounds

I thought they’d healed

Until last night the Larghetto played

As violins, cello’s and basses

Gently caressed the strings

Cracks appeared in long-healed wounds

It called forth the memories

When I was his spouse

Famous soloists and concert halls

The flowers, the spotlight,

The applause

Always I’d been there

Always by his side

My heart swelled with pride

Though in a world of egoists

I was no more than his wife

And I thought of my wardrobe

- My concert clothes -

I shall never wear again

As the music reached a climax

Tears were running;

Rivulets down my face

Pus was seeping

 From ruptured wounds

And my heart broke

Yet again

It is beyond my conception

How he, who can bring forth

- Using his baton like a magic wand -

Devine musical colours,

Weaving their magic,

Bringing enchanted audiences to their feet,

At the same time

Brought forth

So much agony and pain

After he’d left -

He told me -

One last time

Did he dedicate

The Larghetto to me