In the moonlight, the sonata whispers,
A gentle breeze through ancient trees,
Violin’s cry, both soft and fierce,
Unveils the soul, a timeless tease.

The dance of keys, a silent story,
Each note a step, in rhythmic grace,
Echoes of past, of love and glory,
In every chord, a heart’s embrace.

Piano’s fingers, light as feather,
Caress the night, in tender play,
A symphony that binds together,
The dreams of night, to break of day.

And in the hush of night’s last breath,
The eternal echo softly lingers,
Classical music’s gentle death,
A legacy held in tender fingers.