Pretty as a picture, all dolled up,
Waits in the dark, for a crack of light.
Has a smile, but the notes of music,
All wound up, are her delight.
She waits for the lid to be opened,
That’s when, she has seen,
That the notes bound to the box,
Spring up in tune serene.
It’s always the same chords,
She has heard and danced to.
They are still lovely, though on repeat,
Over and over, making her move.
She twirls and spins, lost in wonder,
Of the magic that her little cage holds.
She dances her best, not stopping to think,
If the music remains or the silence enfolds.
