The hum of faint strings

lured me from strange unsweet sleep

urged me to crave cold.

Sepulchral night sky

maypoled - dark ribbons of sound

spoke invitation.

Harper they sang.

Harp-player?      That is not me.

A frustrated hiss

                   my only answer.

                   You ask too much of me I'm...

No-thing.       No True thing.

Ill-formed      ill-purposed.

My music would be ugly

jangled     jarring           bleak.

You would rue this day

                               eternally       believe me.

Play the strings.......... play them.

You will not desist?

No answer           I sigh

.

curl      spread fingers      as needed:

.

You will be sorry.