She was pretty and young,
She was fast on her tongue;
He wasn’t.
She noticed him first,
When she came unrehearsed;
He was late to her concert.
She could be his muse,
But nothing amused him;
Only cello and music.
She touched a magic of strings,
Cello’s awaking spring ,
Preached to find his way
To Titan Mnemosyne.

Second chair from the right,
He conducted with pride
Recollecting his past
While music was last.
May be teaching
Could help him with reaching
His past;
Her cello was preaching,
Her music was reaching
His heart.

His eyes were bright,
He was winning his fight.
(She returned him to life)
He remembered his wife,
Who pronounced one word
That cuts like a sword:

He might not comprehend,
He might not understand
Her teaching,
But his hands – in the air
Conducting from his wheelchair.
Music went to the end,
He could not understand.
Whose are those two hands?
He won a few minutes of life
He didn’t just lose it.

She dreamed to perform,
But she had simply learned
That he found her destiny.
Her music is reaching to the mind that stole its own past,
She is back to his lesson,
Her music will last.