His cello was yellow, the way it just needed to be
A smile placed fair serenely and centre-stage
Upon his pock-marked face to blind everyone oh so ‘specially
These chords his absolute swords, unable to play it any other way
Caressing each and every single one of these blades oh so carefully
The utterly replicated colour of the sun above adding an immaculate touch, perhaps an altogether necessary dash of visual delight to marry these particular proceedings
When he smiled it took the lonely lady clasping her shopping bag right away from herself if only for awhile – her very own middle-aged smile piling a rather perfect kind of back upon his every soliloquy being
He looked at her, then right back on over at these strings which will wait for him every single time
Step on into your soul serene

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