Saturday, November 3, 2007

The Song

With the artful practice of a conjuror

Of the seven notes, he turned a captor.

Weaving his fingers in a seeming emptiness

He spun a web with such exquisite finesse.

Plucking out a note and then one more

Another few, and he soon had a score.

He built from this a mesh very fine

Pitching in then his voice divine,

He threw it high then he threw it low

Surprisingly strong, exquisitely mellow.

As thus swam words in the ebb and flow

With enraptured radiance his face did glow.

Oblivious to the world he did enthrall

Taking unfaltering steps when his Muse did call.

Paid his obeisance with mesmerizing devotion

His melodious voice setting poetry in motion.

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