She sits in silence still,

A form, a question, a will,

Dreaming in the warm quiet,

Of burning lips and hot,

Sweet words,

Feeling her heart speak softly,

Seeing the music flow,

Through her long dark fingers,

Into the white open page,

For all to see,

Making the music,

Her heart always sings,

In Africa, alone,

With the moaning wind,

Only stars for friends,

And distant howling

Of savage dogs,

Far in the night,

Deep in the unknown,

A reality unforgiving, uncaring,

Hungry for the day, for the light,

Which never comes.