The Virtuoso Grasshopper

Beneath the emerald canopy, on a peach rose so clear,

A maestro stirs the symphony, enchanting every ear.

Upon a leaf, his stage of green, mid-morning’s fragile light,

A grasshopper, the minstrel keen, transforms the day to night.

His bow, a slender blade of grass, caresses strings of gold,

Each note a whisper from the past, a melody untold.

The violin, a crafted dream, born of nature's art,

Resounds within the morning’s gleam, a hymn to every heart.

The brook, it hushes; trees lean in; the wind forgets to blow,

While petals blush, entranced within his lilting, lilac flow.

His music speaks of fleeting days, of sunlit fields so fair,

Of shadows that in twilight play, and moonlight’s tender care.

No finer hall could host his tune than this droplet of the dawn,

A crystal globe beneath the moon, where melodies are drawn.

The grasshopper, a maestro small, commands the world to pause,

And with his bow, he stirs the soul, a creature of applause.

So let us learn from this small bard, who plays with heart so free,

That beauty blooms in every shard of life’s sweet symphony.

For even in the smallest form, a masterpiece can rise,

And like the grasshopper’s pure song, touch earth and endless skies.