Ramon "Mon" Odell Hearn

The room is still, the air is thin,
The bench is empty now.
The hands that let the music in
Have taken their last bow.

Across the ivory, echoes fade
Of chords that filled the air,
A life in ebony and jade,
A soul laid soft and bare.

He didn't just perform the song,
He felt the hammer’s strike,
And led the restless heart along
Through rhythms we would like.

The melody remains behind,
Though silent is the hand;
A harmony of heart and mind
Across a grateful land.

The lid is closed, the velvet falls,
The resonance is deep.
Within these quiet, hallowed walls,
The maestro goes to sleep.

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