The Music Box

A haunting melody softly calls,
a whisper in the wind.
The quiet tune dances through the halls,
beckoning from within.

Upon mantelshelf, the music box gleams,
its gold catching the light.
From afar, the magic box seems
like a star that's shining bright.

But wishes, it does not grant;
only one short refrain.
To give its own light, it can't;
only a song to ease the pain.

A dance is all the figure could do,
of poise and full of grace.
To turn and turn is what she knew
and she shall do so all her days.

Round and round, she carefully turns;
to the tune, she sings along.
Forever and ever shall she yearn
to be free from wretched song.

Author's Note

Just a little thing that I thought up.

Reviews

[Olivia Carmine]

It's very nice, but I didn't quite understand the middle verse. It doesn't quite seem connected to the rest of the poem. I loved the language you used, though.