My Father

Dim shadows,
hang about in memories pocket-
the “Bravo” years
under the baton
of the “Maestro,” my father.

A variation on a theme
of melodic intensities
breathing through his pores-
a marriage of tempos,
blended harmonies,
voices resounding,
while exposed strings
smoothly carried out
the next scene

responding to every virtuosic wave;
pacing was bright, but never hurried.
After standing ovations,
the bubbly flowed freely
in a gala of toasts.

Today, Act II is less celebrated-
more tempered with age,
for the tempo has changed.
Yet inside tired eyes
passions fire remains
with notes orchestrated
on a page and applauses
will continue long after
my father has left the stage.

©Copyright2010 CI