This album
that I hold
in my hand
dappled with
my tear drops
of laughing
and crying
rings
with the stories
of a little girl's
now grown life.
They're told
in songs
and music
shaped by her
and a brother
who filled
his musical palette
with the rhythms
and textures
and melodies
of all her years
to sculpt
the sounds
of her stories.
This album
that I hold
in my hand
is rich
with love -
it's the knowing
photographer's eye
of a life friend
catching
that moment
of vulnerability
between smiles -
it's an artist
she calls
soul sister
wrapping her
in brush strokes
born of
their harmony -
it's her love
caressing her
with the music
that passed
from her
through his heart
and back
to her
as his violin
sang her stories -
it's the voices
and instruments
of those
who stepped over
the snoring cavaliers
to squeeze
into the studio
they called
Tiny Dream
and into
the music
that when
it was finished
fitted so perfectly
into the shape
of the girl
and into
this album
that I hold
in my hand.
