Sonnet From A Deaf Admirer
Like ballerinas, her fingers danced across the keys.
by Gary Bryson
There was music in the grace her movements capture.
Though I hear not, my eyes behold the delicate rapture.
Her hands sway as if soft flowers in the breeze.
Her eyes close as she hears the melody she makes.
In the rhapsody of her music she is carried away.
Transfixed by her graceful movements I can only gaze.
My eyes drink in every nuance her body makes.
Others hear the beauty of the melodic sound.
The music transports them to another place.
They can hear, but do not see the beauty of her face.
I alone can see her amidst the grace that she abounds.
Like ballerinas, her fingers dance with every measure.
Like a captured soul, my eyes drink in the lovely treasure.
I am captured and my eyes drink in the lovely treasure.