Thou art the work of ethereal tune.

Known by all, thine act is well sought after.

A flip of sheet music, tis only noon.

violin voice, and harpsichord laughter;

Now glancing left and right in hopes to find,

Thy own righteous fawn to behold changed eyes.

Promenade with drapery close behind.

Now sit for all, and play noon to sunrise.

But tell me, sir of reputable song.

Thee sit atop thy throne, who's on your mind?

No music without muse, am I so wrong?

Till thee claim tis I, I'll say you're behind.

Stride with musicians coveted title,

But, might I attend thy next recital?