Harp

By

I. Surely This music Lies at the very root of sound. The first and purest ancient melody Dwells here As dwells the symmetry of forest heart In curving oak.

II.

Tentative As rain and strong as time Each note in fragile singularity Drops Into a pool of silence - But not lost. Diffuse in singing chambers of the air The waiting chord sustains Within itself Its own awakening.

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