Back in 2004, when I worked at Apple Artworks,
Amidst a divorce, my heart in painful quirks,
Jack Vettriano, the artist I adored,
His paintings spoke to me, emotions poured.
Dancing, dancing, dancing to the world's demise,
Not in happiness, but to save my soul's cries,
To the haunting melodies of Canon in B,
Pachelbel's creation, setting my spirit free.
Amidst the gallery, I would sway and twirl,
Dusting and rearranging, lost in a whirl,
Between the pictures on the walls and the floor,
Their stories and colors, my solace they bore.
The performance of sound, a healing balm,
Mending my wounded soul, a soothing calm,
And Vettriano's masterpieces, by my side,
Offering solace, where my heart could confide.
Though I lack the skill to play the piano keys,
I aspire to learn before life's final decrees,
To perform this timeless melody with grace,
A tribute to the beauty that time can't erase.
Author, Antica Zovko
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