The morning poem

Its been fifty days, since that music has last filled the sky
Unexpectedly, this morning jane woke up to the sound of blues
It shocked her first but after a while she could justify
It was her fault to forget the key to the door of those old records
She concentrated hard to remember the strange tune that played
This morning, could it be she her first time listening to this one?
No, it couldnt be, she stayed in the bed to think about this occurance
The unfamiliar melody, twisted, turned, flew, dived and than drowned
She strained her ears, trying to catch last vanishing notes
Her throat tigtened, regret was heavy as that beautiful mist faded
She jumped out of the bed, opening door and raced doomstairs.
Not a sound, not a living person in sight, the house stood empty
She searched every where, under the stairs, behind the doors
She felt the song spilling out like sand from the folds of her brains
Her tried humming it but her voice was lost in the morning wind
She was on her knees trying to gather the tiny gold sand grains
But she soon realized they too have vanished right from her palms
It wont do, she thought, mustering up strength she ran back upstairs
Maybe the song will return when she is alone and thoughtful in her bed