With the artful practice of a conjuror
Of the seven notes, he turned a captor.
Weaving his fingers in a seeming emptiness
He spun a web with such exquisite finesse.
Plucking out a note and then one more
Another few, and he soon had a score.
He built from this a mesh very fine
Pitching in then his voice divine,
He threw it high then he threw it low
Surprisingly strong, exquisitely mellow.
As thus swam words in the ebb and flow
With enraptured radiance his face did glow.
Oblivious to the world he did enthrall
Taking unfaltering steps when his Muse did call.
Paid his obeisance with mesmerizing devotion
His melodious voice setting poetry in motion.