Piano Lessons

I'm back at the piano again, (maybe) in earnest this time, and having an enormously good time reading and reading and reading. I think I'll have an enormously good time once I settle down on repertoire, too, but it's kind of the difference between dating and getting engaged...when you're dating a piece, you can be all superficial, love the big picture and ignore the problem spots. Once you're engaged/married, you see every little quirky detail and recognize that it's now your responsibility to overcome every challenge. It's great, that kind of hard work, totally great, but sometimes it's nice to go back to the crush stage.


So I'm crushing on some Prokofiev (I'd like to commit to the 7th Sonata, but my goal right now is to stay with smaller pieces, so I'm sticking with The Montagues and the Capulets), the Haydn Fantasie, and I can't decide which of the 20 Scarlatti sonatas I've gone through is really going to hold my fancy. I think I will revisit the 4th Ballade because it deserves to get to the next level.


I'm also planning some fun collaborative work for the near future, and am so excited to play gorgeous music with some wonderful musicians.


Spending so many hours a day working with students or at the piano itself is a little exhilarating. I'm so lucky that this is my life.


I love this Billy Collins poem. So much of his poetry wraps the mundane in the cloth of art. It makes me look more carefully at the details of my life.


It's so much fun to admit that (once again) "even when I am not playing, I think about the piano."


Piano Lessons
By Billy Collins

1.
My teacher lies on the floor with a bad back
off to the side of the piano.
I sit up straight on the stool.
He begins by telling me that every key
is like a different room
and I am a blind man who must learn
to walk through all twelve of them
without hitting the furniture.
I feel myself reach for the first doorknob.

2.
He tells me that every scale has a shape
and I have to learn how to hold
each one in my hands.
At home I practice with my eyes closed.
C is an open book.
D is a vase with two handles.
G flat is a black boot.
E has the legs of a bird.

3.
He says the scale is the mother of the chords.
I can see her pacing the bedroom floor
waiting for her children to come home.
They are out at nightclubs shading and lighting
all the songs while couples dance slowly
or stare at one another across tables.
This is the way it must be. After all,
just the right chord can bring you to tears
but no one listens to the scales,
no one listens to their mother.

4.
I am doing my scales,
the familiar anthems of childhood.
My fingers climb the ladder of notes
and come back down without turning around.
Anyone walking under this open window
would picture a girl of about ten
sitting at the keyboard with perfect posture,
not me slumped over in my bathrobe, disheveled,
like a white Horace Silver.

5.
I am learning to play
“It Might As Well Be Spring”
but my left hand would rather be jingling
the change in the darkness of my pocket
or taking a nap on an armrest.
I have to drag him in to the music
like a difficult and neglected child.
This is the revenge of the one who never gets
to hold the pen or wave good-bye,
and now, who never gets to play the melody.

6.
Even when I am not playing, I think about the piano.
It is the largest, heaviest,
and most beautiful object in this house.
I pause in the doorway just to take it all in.
And late at night I picture it downstairs,
this hallucination standing on three legs,
this curious beast with its enormous moonlit smile.

Path Chosen

Sometimes I think too much.

The truth is, I chose my path at the end of September.  And I'm sticking with it. 

The thing that has distracted me lately?  Doubt.  Plain and simple.  Doubt in my abilities.  Doubt that the inspiration I had six months ago (and many times since) still holds true.  Doubt that I can manage to keep juggling all the responsibilities in my life while adding still more.

But this is what I know: doubt and its best friend, fear, are no allies of mine.

After all, I never thought I was a remarkable pianist.  I knew before I started out that I have much (oh, so much) to learn.  So should I be surprised that I've had a couple of rocky performances?  No.  I should have expected it!

And balancing motherhood with music-making?  I've done it all my life.  David is fully supportive.  The kids are fine with it.  Why am I doubting that I will put first things first?  My family will always be my number one priority.  But I can still practice and make lunches.  I can study and take my kids to their lessons.  I can prepare a syllabus and help them finish their homework.  I can attend concerts and go on dates with David.  It's not either/or.

Am I going to be overwhelmed at times?  Yes.  That's nothing new.  There's even a chance that I work best and am happiest when I face a mental challenge.  And I KNOW I'm happier when I'm practicing.

If I get inspiration that my once-right choice is now wrong for me, I'll grieve, wonder why, and move on.  I have no desire to force my own agenda if it's not correct.  But I'm peaceful about this, excited about it, and ready to sacrifice the unnecessary things in my life to have enough time to practice, to love my kids and husband, and to do what needs to be done.

One more thing:  I made my piano blog private.  If you'd like an invite, send me your email address.

Searching

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

I'm standing at my crossroads, and I'm surprised by the angst rising almost daily in my chest during the last couple of weeks. Practicing four hours a day is difficult in the best of times, and right now doesn't feel like the best of times.


What do I want? I want to take the path of music, of hard work, of discovery, to be a mother, a wife, and a musician. And at the same time I want to give up, to duck my head and say "Never mind," to learn to love the quieter life, to spend more time in service, in homemaking, in relationship-building.


I thought I knew which path to take, which path was intended for me. And now I'm torn. David and I have, after long discussion and thought and prayer, decided I will start teaching again to help make ends meet. This is exciting to me. I've been waiting for it to be right to teach again. I love teaching. I love the long relationships I build with students and families. I love training young musicians, introducing them to the joys of music making.


But how (HOW????) can I add one more thing to my already overwhelming load and to the load of my family?  Does this mean I turn back, finding my way to the path I left three years ago?  Or do I find a way to gain the strength I need to continue down this already rocky, already steep, but somehow exhilarating path?


I have often wished to have the ability to live two (or ten) lives simultaneously, but rarely as intensely as I wish it now.  I want to be a stay-at-home mom with all the flexibility and freedom this life offers. I want to be a pianist, with all the richness and depth and art that life offers.  (I'd also like to be rich and have people cook and clean for me, but I don't know how I'd achieve that in any imagined life.) 


I also wish I had three or four or five more hours a day, and I thought I could find some time by sleeping less, but I already find myself falling asleep at the keyboard almost every night. Last night I tried to run my program. When I was halfway through the Chopin, my eyes closed and I nodded off. When I woke up, I realized that not only had I fallen asleep again, but I'd skipped an entire movement of the Beethoven. Not the best quality practicing. (I also don't suggest less sleep when driving is so much a part of your daily life. I'm pretty sure it's not safe to fall asleep at stoplights.) 


I'm praying constantly for guidance, but the heavens seem closed. Is that because I've already had all the revelation I need, and I should just stay the course? I don't know. But the night is drawing near and I need to choose my path.  I can't just stay here waiting at the crossroads or my choice will be made for me.

All Done!

So I did it.  It was terrifying, but I did it.  I described it over here, and I don't want to retype it, so I'll be lazy and just give you the link.

I am so grateful to all of you for your love and support and kindness.  Also, for your willingness to overlook my inability to focus on anything but the task at hand.

And now it's time to really clean my house.

Listening Ears Needed

So the time is approaching.  I have to take the leap of faith and actually start performing.  I've set up a few specific times to perform, but if you're wanting to hear the program and you're not able to make any of these, let me know and I'll give you your very own command performance.  Yes.  You ARE that special.

#1 Tomorrow (Thurs) morning. 10 am.  Dayne's Music.

#2 Saturday afternoon.  3 pm.  My house.

#3 Next Thurs (the 24th) morning.  10 am.  Dayne's Music.

These are casual performances.  Just come as you are.  Bonus: if you come to my house, I'll even give you a brownie or something equally unhealthy.

Repertoire:

Bach Partita #2 in c minor

Beethoven Sonata #30 in E major, Op. 109

Chopin Ballade #4

Debussy Etude pour les cinq doigts

(and possibly: Mompou Cancion y danza #5...I think I need five more minutes to fill out the hour. I'll be timing tonight to decide.)

To My Blog

I have not forgotten you, oh dear blog.

You have been on my mind.

I would like to fill you with lovely pictures and thoughtful words.  Really, I would.

But I'm just kind of freaking out right now, so this is all you get.

Two weeks from tomorrow is the big audition.  TWO weeks.  That's fourteen days, blog.  FOURTEEN!

I'm practicing four hours a day.  And next week I think I'm upping it to five.

My house?  A minor wreck.  My children?  Pretty well loved and cared for, since I'm trying to avoid major practice sessions in the after-school hours.  My husband?  A saint.

My fingers?  Cracked and bleeding.

My head?  Totally full of music and theory and technical details.  Stretched...OH, how stretched.

My heart?  Full of awe at the mercies of a loving Father in Heaven.

I'll be back one day to fill you in on the details.  Until then, think good thoughts my way.

(And to my friends and family: if you're in the area and want to be a live body to make me nervous and watch me hyperventilate a little, let me know.  I'm going to do a few (a lot of) run-throughs in the next little while and wouldn't mind an audience here and there.)

Cello 12.12.10

Josh had his cello recital at the Main Library.  Nicole (his teacher, my friend) recently recorded a few tracks for a CD for Deseret Book.  (It's lovely, by the way.)  She asked if I would accompany her on a couple of the same pieces at the beginning of the recital.

I love playing with Nicole.  We've been playing together since college, and the connection is really easy.  It doesn't take a lot of work to feel pretty confident.  So we decided not to worry about rehearsing.  I showed up and we performed.

We decided a run-through might have been smart when she played a different version of the Thais Meditation than the one for which she gave me the accompaniment.  Hers ended 16 measures before mine.  Oops.  She decided to do some long harmonics for a couple of measures to see if I'd figure it out, which I eventually did.  We ended mostly together.

Josh needs a new cello.  He's needed a new cello since the early months of 2010.  He's playing on a 1/2 size.  He needed a 3/4 size.  Now Nicole says he needs a full size.  I guess not buying a new cello came in handy...we just get to skip a size.

Except did I just mention that now he needs a full size?  Why oh why didn't I insist no one in our family could play a string instrument?  We already own three pianos.  We should have said "Piano ONLY.  No exceptions."  I guess I'll be selling one of the three to buy a cello.  Anyone want a piano?

Awards Ceremony 11.20.10

Doesn't she look mini?  I love this girl.

Kate's First Piano Competition 11.19.10

Sweet Kate performed in her first piano competition.  The age range for the competition was all the way through sixth grade.  And our little second grader played well enough to earn an Honorable Mention!  She was fine about playing, but thrilled to get her traditional end-of-performance chocolate cookie-dough shake at Arctic Circle.  Nice to know she has her priorities in place.

Josh is Awesome 11.16.10

I love pay-off parenting moments.  They don't happen often (which is why they're so special), but they're worth waiting for.

Josh was asked to be in the all-district junior high honor orchestra (for seventh to ninth graders).  He was the only cellist selected from his school.  When he got to the first rehersal, they split to determine seating.  And Josh was chosen to be first chair.  He had spent good solid practice time with the music, determined to go in with the music learned well, and I'm so glad that he recognized the necessity of preparation time.

After the concert, we celebrated with Tasty's donuts, an old long-lost favorite that we rediscovered near the performance site in Layton.  Josh got his favorite...an apple fritter.  As big as his head.  It doesn't get much better than a boy smiling this big, does it?

(I was smiling just as big as Josh.  This school year has been such an improvement for all of us in so many ways.  I'm just glad that Josh is really finding his footing.)

Concerto Festival, Pumpkins, and Trick-or-Treating 10-30-10

Saturday morning the girls and I headed over to the U for their Federation Concerto Festival.  Kate played a Lynn Freeman Olsen concerto, Celebration, Mvt 1 and Sophie played Haydn in C Major, Mvt. 3.  Can you tell from their smiles how well they played?  Their performances were real pay-off moments for each of them.

I just love Soph's attitude in this next picture.  Sophie, of course, hates it.  She's texting Bridget to report on her Superior and is telling me off for taking yet another picture.

President's Circle is exactly what a college should look like:  old brick buildings with lots of character, an expanse of green lawn and gorgeous big trees.  And spending so much time there (this is where Ben's preschool is, as well as where the music building is) has had one big effect on me: I'm feeling more and more at home there.  Fingers crossed that I'll have a reason to spend way MORE time there starting in the fall...

After our concerto festival, we carved our pumpkins.

And then we went trick-or-treating in the pouring rain on our old street.  We love and miss our neighbors.

And honestly, this is the PERFECT trick-or-treating neighborhood.  (That's my brother's house with our car in the driveway.)  The charming houses, the trees with falling leaves to crunch through, the crowds and crowds of happy kids and friendly parents...I absolutely miss it, but am glad to have excuses to go back.

My First Piano Trio 9.30.10

One of my 2010 goals was to arrange two pieces for my kids to play as a piano trio: Kate on piano, Sophie on violin, and Josh on cello.  I'd started one months ago but it never got further than writing out the melody for the instruments.

Then I was asked if my kids could do something for our ward's Primary Program at the end of October (one Sunday a year, the main meeting of our congregation is turned over to the children's organization.  The kids do almost all of the talking and singing.  It gets pretty entertaining.)  When I got the assignment, I decided it was time to get started for real.

I thought I had until the end of October, but then Josh signed himself (and his sisters) up for a performance in his seminary class on Oct. 1.  So September 29 and 30 found me at the keyboard, scribbling away, trying to finish in time to allow the kids to actually practice once or twice before an 8:10 call time.  I'm not a natural at this composing business.  I don't have a lot of experience.  I am constantly second guessing myself.  This was NOT an easy process.  But I did it...after lots of prayer and erasing and more prayer and more erasing.  I finished...at 2 am of the night before the performance.

And they DID get to play it once or twice before school.

It's just too bad once or twice wasn't enough...Not nearly enough, especially for the seven year old pianist.  And despite the sloppiness of the seminary performance, I was quite proud of my efforts AND their efforts.

I was also grateful we had another four weeks before our real performance.  Even though I'd been cursing Josh earlier for forcing me to finish the piece early, it was definitely a blessing in disguise.  So now I've finished one.  I guess I'd better get started on the second...maybe I'll do a Christmas song.

Piano Group and Salute to Youth 9.28.10

Ahhh...Piano Group.  I just can't really tell you how much I love Piano Group.  I look forward to it like I do nothing else each month.  This month was wonderful.  Cody and her husband Todd (a wonderful tenor) were preparing for a recital on Temple Square and wanted to run through some of their repertoire for us: some Schumann and Ginastera.  So lovely.  Jill played some Bach (the first mvt of the Italian Concerto) and so did I (the Allemande from the 2nd Partita.  I finished memorizing it the day before).  Am I forgetting anybody?

But does anybody have a better name than Piano Group?  We've all been discussing it and we haven't figured anything out.  Shout out any suggestions you have.

Later that night, David took the biggies to the Salute to Youth concert (the night once a year when young performers solo with the Utah Symphony).  They all came home inspired.

I'm Kinda Busy Right Now 9.23.10

So, you might have noticed that my blog posting has become slightly sporadic.  This might be why.

Can you read it?

That's right.  I'm crazy.  Totally and completely crazy.

And yet, kinda completely excited too.

So I've started the application process for my DMA.  And the auditions are in February.  And I'm freaked out.  And I shouldn't even talk about this in public, because what if I play my audition and they're all, "Ummmm...yeah...you're not really who we're looking for.  You're a little old.  And your playing is a little rusty.  So come back when you're younger and a superstar and have no children demanding dinner every night or help with homework or need someone to clean up the carpet yet again."?  Yeah.  That will be embarrassing, won't it, since I've announced my intentions publicly now and you all know what I'm intending.

So maybe pretend you didn't read this.  And if you did read it, and you're so inclined, pray for me.  Pray for me hard.  And also pray that Ben gets fully potty trained a little more quickly so I can be practicing instead of cleaning carpets.  And also pray that the people who will be listening to me in four months (FOUR MONTHS???) will think I'm worth taking a chance on.

(Because I am...  I think.)

Sophie's Book Three Recital 9.1.10

Sophie's teacher, Kathy, decided it would be fun for her three students in Book Three to do their recital together.  It was a great summer goal for all of them.  We had the recital at our home, and I was really proud of them.  It's been fun watching each of them grow up and move from little violins to bigger and bigger ones.

Also, it was piano group at Kathryn's.  We had lots of talking time and then we mostly worked on duets. We also listened to Cody who is getting ready for a recital with her husband on Temple Square, and Jill, who was preparing a recital with her daughter.  So much fun.

Piano Group Rocks 8.3.10

Seriously. I can't tell you how much I love the women in my piano group. They are intelligent, talented, funny, kind, intuitive. And they can PLAY that piano.

When I was inspired to begin this group, I had no idea how many dividends it would pay out within such a short time. I'm inspired by the other women, by their music, by their teaching ideas, by their lives.

We're working on duet music together, Cody played some Schubert lied accompaniments that she'll be performing with her husband, and I played the Mompou I performed for Mrs. Gibson's memorial service. We stayed late, and then I hung out talking in the parking lot for another hour. I got home about midnight. And I loved every minute.

Going Home Again 7.24.10

Saturday was a bittersweet day. I spent time running with my mom and then alone. I spent time in the lakebed pondering the losses of the summer. I spent time practicing my Mompou and playing lots and lots of other gorgeous music.

And then it was time to head to Long Beach for Mrs. Gibson's memorial service.

The service was held at the Unitarian Church in Long Beach. As I walked through the grounds, I remembered my first time there. It was a Mozart competition. My dad had told me that if I won my division, he would buy me a grand. I was playing the a minor sonata (K. 310), first movement, and my fingers had just had their first cracks. I was in a warmup room, waiting to play, and I showed Mrs. Gibson the cracks in the fingertips. She had me pound my fingers on a tabletop so that the pain dulled to a numb ache instead of the sharper original pain. And then I played. And I won. And my dad bought me a grand. And then he kept it. Thanks a lot, Dad.

I also remembered coming home from college and driving to the same church with Kurt to attend a chamber performance of Mrs. Gibson. I don't know if she had become Leaine to me yet. Probably not. It took many many years of adulthood before I could call her by her first name without cringing.

So even the location of the service was evocative to me. This woman loved me, coached me, taught me how to phrase a melody line, how to think for myself, how to wring joy out of life. She cared deeply about me, about my family, and about the music she taught me.

Somehow my love of music is wrapped up in my love of her. And I don't think I even realized it fully until it was too late to tell her.

The service was full of beautiful words and beautiful music. And when it ended with a video performance of Mrs. Gibson performing Chopin, we all cried and cried and cried. Her voice has been stilled in this world, but I'm sure she plays on in the next.

After the service, Mom and I drove to the CSULB campus so I could reminisce about the years we would walk to the music building for my piano lessons. I am still blown away by my mom's dedication to my music lessons. She had to cart not just me to those lessons, but anywhere from three to seven other children that she had to keep entertained and quiet. For eleven years (until I could finally drive myself). Have I mentioned that my mother is a good woman?

After CSULB, we drove by my elementary school and then finally by our first house. The day included so many memories of a rich childhood.

It was a wonderful, special day.

I am very grateful.

(Ooooo...and very exciting. I met Mrs. Gibson's main teacher, Julien Musafia, who performed two Chopin mazurkas at the service, and found out that my musical lineage goes back to Leschetizky. I'm feeling very old school and cool now.)

Their First Trio 7.16.10

My friend Kathryn has a wonderful piano studio. Each summer she does a music camp for her students, and this year she decided to do a collaborative piano camp and she happened to link up with our violin teacher, Kathy. Each of Kathy's students were matched to one of Kathryn's students. They rehearsed together twice, then played a recital on Friday evening. Kathryn also asked if Josh and Sophie would like to do a piano trio with one of her students. My answer? Of course YES.

I've been trying to write a trio for Kate and these two, but haven't pulled myself together to do it yet, so this was a great starting point. They struggled through their first rehearsal at home (rehearsing can be tricky for any musicians. There is a lot of pent-up emotion that gets spewed out when someone tells you you're counting wrong) but by their first rehearsal with the pianist, they were ready.

I've been trying to figure out how to post a video of their performance, but I haven't managed it yet. So I'm going to just say how wonderful it is to watch the two of them play together, and it's especially wonderful to see Ben start to walk THROUGH the performance and Kate try to stop him while the videocamera shakes because I'm trying to motion Kate to take Ben OUT of the house before he ruins the whole concert.

Survival 7.11.10

Since Brent's death, some days are okay.

Some days are pretty terrible.

On those pretty terrible days, the piano provides some solace, as long as I get myself to the keyboard.

Just in case you were wondering, the okay days are finally outnumbering the terrible days. That is good news. And for the days that are still pretty rotten, at least there's the piano.

Missing Mrs. Gibson

When I was a five year old with red ponytails, I took the first of many treks up the hill to Cal State Long Beach. I was excited to take my very first piano lesson with Leaine Gibson. Lessons were very exciting. Not only did I get to walk past rehearsal rooms filled with music-making, I got to play in a room with music staff chalkboards. And of course, there was the piano. I don't remember not playing the piano, and I can't remember how I felt about the first time I played. I just know that I quickly learned to love the piano and to love Mrs. Gibson.

I loved lessons at CSULB and I loved lessons at her house in Long Beach. I loved her vast collections of miniatures and books. I loved her cats. I loved talking to her about everything and anything going on in my life. I loved thinking I convinced her that I'd worked really hard on a piece I was sightreading until she said, "That was nice sightreading. How would that have sounded if you'd practiced it?" I didn't love that if I forgot my music (on purpose) she'd have a copy so I'd have to play anyway. I loved our recitals. I loved the receptions in her backyard after our recitals. And I loved knowing that she cared about me even more than she cared about my playing.

She had her quirks. One October day when I was in high school, I drove to Fullerton College to meet her for a lesson. We met in the parking lot and because it was close to Halloween, she handed me a feathered mask. She put on her own, and we walked to the music building wearing our masks. My 17 year old self was mortified. College boys might see me. But she wasn't about to let me get away with holding it. I was going to wear the darned thing.

She influenced my political choices. She influenced my reading. She influenced my love of specific composers. (I didn't, however, remain in love with miniatures. Or cats.)

Even after I graduated from high school, I would take lessons from her during the summer. Even after I married David, I would take lessons from her when we'd visit. And even after Josh was born, she helped fulfill one of my life-long dreams when she recommended me to be soloist for a concert with the Fullerton Symphony Orchestra.

I honestly don't know who I'd be without my years and years of time with this dear woman.

A few days before Brent died, a friend of hers called to let me know that Leaine had had a stroke and was on hospice care. She had moved to Washington to be with her daughter, so I knew that saying goodbye wasn't an option. I was devastated and so regretful. Our letters had never stopped going back and forth, but their frequency had lessened over the years. The idea that she wouldn't be available to me as a mentor or friend hadn't really crossed my mind. I just assumed she'd be there, always ready to send me a piece she'd fallen in love with, some quotes about music or animals, or a picture of Katherine Hepburn (she always said I looked like her.)

And then, while still in California after the funeral, I got the news that Mrs. Gibson had died one week after Brent, and that her memorial service would be held on July 24, back in California at the church where I had won my first competition, the church where I had listened to her play so many recitals. I was so sad not to be able to be there.

And then her family asked me to play. And I couldn't not be there. So tomorrow I fly to California to remember Mrs. Gibson, to play her one last piece. I am honored to be included.

I will play her some Mompou. We both loved Mompou. She liked to try to trick me with composers and introduce me to new ones whenever possible. One visit, she asked me to guess the composer as she played a piece. I think she was both disappointed AND thrilled when I knew it was Mompou.

These last few weeks have been full of heartache and love and gratitude. Loss seems to be around every corner. But I am so very very grateful for the time I've had with these dear ones I've lost.

Leaine's friend Pat read me this Edna St. Vincent Millay poem over the phone as we talked about how much we miss Leaine. I'm afraid that I wept and wept as she read, and that even now, writing it out, I wept again. I guess I've learned (and it is a much harder lesson than any of my piano lessons ever were. Even the ones I didn't practice for.) that although the reality of eternal life and eventual reunion is deep in my heart, the initial stages of grief for me block out that reality for a time. For now, I feel mostly the loss. The hope for our eventual reunion is there, but it is muted. I believe that with time, this will be reversed, but for now, I'm accepting the daily grief and waiting for the relief.

I am not resigned to the loss of my dear Mrs. Gibson, or my dear Brent. But I am grateful for the beauty of the hours I spent loving them. I am grateful for how my life was gently shaped because of knowing them.

Dirge without Music

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.

So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:

Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned

With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.

Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.

Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.

A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,

A formula, a phrase remains,--but the best is lost.

The answers quick and keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love, --

They are gone. They are gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled

Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.

More precious was the light in your eyes than all the blossoms in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave,

Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;

Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.

I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.