A Heart with Empty Pages

056

"Rooftops and Rosin"

I sit perched on my rooftop

quite near the edge;

and I see raindrops

dripping off the ledge.

I take out my violin,

go over the songs I know;

I bring out my little tin

of rosin--for my bow.

softly I play, 

and the music starts to grow;

up comes the light of day;

a beautiful low glow.

People come out to hear

the music that I wrote;

they give me their ear,

and hang on to every note.