The clock ticks seconds away

A sudden ring -

Children scramble for the door,

But not Lily.

I wave goodbye to the others,

All the while pondering the lessons to come.

Will they improve?

Will I impact their love of this "music"?

She sits in a small room,

Alone,

And conjures happy images

As the strain flows from IT.

I hear a sweet sound

Coming from that back room.

It is lovely;

It is the sound of happiness.

IT is Lily's refuge,

Her sanctuary,

In a universe that is against her,

Never hushed, until she plays IT.

I have long watched her,

This flowering child.

She yearns to be heard,

Yet presses on in silence.

Except for the music that comes from IT.

Her safe harbor,

And the only thing which makes her whole.

Her clarinet.