He wrote the notes like stars in line,
Each sound a thread in grand design.
But fire burned within his hand,
A storm of genius, hard to stand.
He shouted loud when tones were wrong,
Demanded truth in every song.
Yet time would teach the flames to bend,
And anger turned to means to mend.
You learn with fire, you burn, you strive,
But peace will come as years arrive.
The heart that once refused to bend
Will one day break, and start to mend.
Now older eyes can see the soul,
That music's more than just control.
“To learn when young,” the old man said,
“To understand when gray your head.”