The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue,
The lamp fills with a pale green glow
The trees of the avenue.
The old piano plays an air,
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys,
Her head inclines this way.
Shy thoughts and grave wide eyes and hands
That wander as they list--
The twilight turns to darker blue
With lights of amethyst
The images don't seem to go with the words. But isn't life often like that? ~sigh~ :/
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