Riddle Poem

 

Freely floating,

Unseen but heard.

Dancing a dance.

Familiar to some,

Alien to others.

Creating colors,

Pitches in blackness.

Writing on a page.

Taking many forms.

Sometimes loud and sudden,

Other times soft and sweet.

Each movement is a surprise,

A Pandora’s Box of wonder.

 

What am I?  

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