This is it

In fields of purple
Clouds a swirling grey
A cellist stood
And she began to play

A sweet, mellow sound filling the air
Her story, her tale to the meadow she shares
Rising and falling with eagles a three
Wings broad, chests proud, completely free

Rain pouring on the cellists' face
Her song she plays picks up the pace
Magnificent lightning, thunder a bass
Black clouds lining the sky like lace

The storm is coming but still she plays
The soft crisp Autumn air in her face
And now can you see what music really is?
It's life, it's the storm, its the cellist...This is it.