[hr]

[i]Bon Bon[/i]

Displaying every outward sign of bliss
That Bon Bon thinks she's able to create,
She still expels a quiet little hiss:
The train from Canterlot's arriving late.

Beside her, Lyra doesn't bat an eye,
And Bon Bon's heart goes prickly in her chest.
Her darling doesn't need to hear her sigh
In answer to this single small request.

It's only once a month, so Bon Bon vows
To keep her snark in check until it ends.
She doesn't really mind it, she allows,
Because she hasn't [i]got[/i] that many friends....

They're disembarking: Vinyl looking slack;
Octavia, her cello on her back.

[hr]

[i]Octavia[/i]

To see the two of them, all waves and smiles,
Recalls to Tavey's mind their college days
When life and love were new, their coming trials
Invisible along the winding ways.

Duetting now with Lyra soothes her soul
In ways not even Vinyl's touch can match.
Performing as she does demands a toll,
An itch that only coming here can scratch.

They hug, but Tavey yearns to rush along,
Unpack her instrument, and get in tune.
She thirsts to hear the harp and cello's song
And knows her sweet relief is coming soon.

So into town, the others laugh and talk,
But Tavey barely gets herself to walk.

[hr]

[i]Lyra[/i]

It thrills her every month to welcome them,
To show their oldest friends into their house.
With Bonnie's plastic grin a polished gem,
She follows Lyra quiet as a mouse.

How Lyra loves the effort Bonnie makes,
And once again she knows she chose aright
In picking Ponyville despite the stakes,
Dissolving her career right at its height.

Their eyes on Bonnie's candied dreams, they built
Their shop and life, and Lyra can't regret
A bit of it, her only source of guilt
The sight of Tavey frazzled and upset.

But then she lights her horn and strums her lyre,
And Tavey flares her old accustomed fire.

[hr]

[i]Vinyl[/i]

She ought to find it boring, Vinyl knows.
It's why she always keeps her shades in place:
If ever she should drift into a doze,
She doesn't want it showing on her face.

Except it never happens. Not at all.
Awake no matter how the music tries 
To knock her out with tempos at a crawl,
She barely blinks when Tavey fills her eyes.

Her world and all within it disappears—
The clubs, the lights, the pulsing, pounding bass.
Around and through her, gentle in her ears,
The harp and cello make her slow her pace.

She breathes and feels the others do the same,
The room alive with their communal flame.

[hr]

[i]Quartet[/i]

Extravagant's the word, then, for their lunch,
Their table at the bistro long reserved.
A dozen types of sandwiches and punch
But not too much decorum is observed.

"This Ponyville," says Vinyl. "It's sublime."
"It is," says Lyra. "Almost paradise."
And Bonnie grins. "Come visit anytime."
A laugh from Tavey: "Once a month is nice."

As always happens, evening settles down.
They hug inside the station, then the train
With chugs and puffs goes pulling out of town
With both the couples sharing this refrain:

"It's great to see them, great to spend the day,
But I'd not trade with them for [i]any[/i] pay."

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