a long gone tale

Here comes the rain,
The heavy dots which wet the windows,
And wipe the pavement clean of dust.
Beating on the door as if a set of chords,
The musical tone adds to the callings of the frogs to their mates.

Staring out of the windowsill,
She sets into a path of reverie...

The once artistic room,
With a grand piano and two woody violins,
The song of the Secret Garden played flawlessly in the mist.
Three musicians were racing against time to create a tacit piece in the rehearsal,
For it should be the last unforgettable performance to the world before everyone split apart.

The long gone chamber is now vividly visible in her mind,
As she retrieves her manuscript book and reads her masterpiece.

Eager to start it all over again,
The fingers begin to run across the piano keys in a smooth flow.
Trying to recall and imagine the once magnificent scene,
The secondo sets hard in a solo voice without the primo voices by the two violinists.

It doesn't sound right!

Discontented,
She pulls back the white linen and closes the Yamaha.

The music has stopped.
While the rain no longer sweeps the road and the rainbow has turned up,
The view of the present is clear to her.

Yes,
The long gone tale should now be kept in the memory bank,
For it shall be something to treasure,
Something not to be forgotten...

And, 
Shall it be the final touch of inspiration,
In the new journey of life.