Moonlight Sonata

Pale moonlight oozes from the lacquered grand
as birdlike fingers stroke the checkered keys.
Time seemingly forgets its second hand,
a drop of golden amber set to freeze.

C-Minor echoes through the concert hall,
draped in a velvet burgundy on oak.
The chandelier's on dim as shadows shawl
the audience in leisurely baroque.

The tempo's picking up, a stately dance.
Wrists up and down, a peacock’s mannered gait,
and then, excited, clasping at their chance,
they race across the keyboard to their fate.

Could but a poem match that final note,
the poet, could say, quitting: "all she wrote".