If Only For a Drummer

She pins a tin medal upon a borrowed chest,
Speaking the unspeakable, which cannot be about me.
When the air fills with her gifts to me,
I feel weak before the sculpture of her faith.
Her words ring loud, deep, and eternal within my boyish heart.
When she soothes me with immortal melodies,
My world becomes a surrealistic Village gig
With Mozart, Beethoven, and Chopin…and if
Only for a drummer, I would worship her forever.