Poezie
Roland
Kirk
1 min lectură·
Mediu
You picked up one flute,
then another,
even a third.
I imagine you standing
on a clearing in the forest
flooded by light through leaves
as your lips and nostrils vibrate
and every fibre of your body spells music.
Look ahead, Roland,
that starling faints from envy
and falls to the ground
right in front of your feet.
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