The Lonesome Saxophone

 
What must it think
After so many years
It must lay there inside the case
Remembering all those nights and days
 
Every note must have been like a poem
Expressing joys and aches
Every breath spoke life
Playing tones too advanced for the human ear to hear
But only felt
 
What it must have been on wondering nights
Improvising  
Like poetry in a scale of notes
Each reed
Pressed between teeth and lips
Eyes closed
Festivals
Jazz clubs
Under the stage lights
Smoky crowded rooms
Telling a story without words
 
Sit and listen
Watch and read
The framework of each verse
Written like he played
A testament to artistry
 
And the lonesome saxophone goes to sleep
Filled with memories