Claire De Lune
She is passion.
She is the subtle, quiet whisper in his ear pleading
Write my song.
Make me live again.
And he wrote.
His fingers flew over the keys.
The music filled the room and she lived again.
She danced again as the music swelled.
She smiled again as he played.
Her blue eyes shone again.
She lived again.
Debussy loved again.
Poem by Molly Tiesma. Painting by Edgar Degas.