A Song Her life is a song. Each event is an accent, and the crescendos and decrescendos of life create her melody. Her family is a chorus, her work a refrain; the key changes as seasons, years and people pass. Lush strings flood the halls when her child is born, and the lament of a soft piano touches the audience at her husband's death. Yet the chorus repeats, but the notes are subtly changed. It slows to a largo in her age, and a brass refrain heralds her passing. Thus is the passing of but a violin in the orchestra and a note in the symphony.