The Music Box

Ding, dong, ding, ding, bong , ding, ZING.
Pause.
Silence.
One note is out of place, alone.
Or so it seems.
And the world falls apart.
Finally the song continues,
Not very comfortably,
Not always lovingly
Never perfectly
And then the button is twisted and everything is reset.
Or so we say.
But always a mistake,
Always the dread of that one error,
Always a pause.
But during all of this, always the same words, securely etched on the box: I love you
Etched in our hearts?
Maybe.
A source of comfort?
Always.