Your name was as it sounded-a candle in the dark,to guide me through the tunnelslifting melodies of larks.Rejected from fine Julliard,you swayed as you played Bach,when they offered you bravadoshould you flourish with the flock.“Alas” they said, “you’re talented,but must step into place”,when they noted that such movementswere preventing you from grace.But you, just like…
Category: flute
The Flautist
Ambrosial seeds that sprouted song entice the plum-pursed lips gripping for the galaxies confined to sullen sips. A cup-eared chorus hollers back to smooth the clods of clay molded by the penchant of the potters who will play. A honey-suckle sound escapes, to which the bees reply, “Had only we a gentry cup our lot…
You must be logged in to post a comment.