After a long day of lifting stuff,
yanking, piling, dragging stuff,
shriveled and bent
from carrying the weight of the world
I wander in, set down the load,
and lose myself
to the music.
Watch the sun-break of song
erase lines of toil
from young again faces
As the master weaves waterfalls
and sounding whales
with threads of footfalls measuring time
for the music.
Memories, like autumn leaves
on the sighs of wind in trees
long ago cut and made into paper,
dance a flurry about.
As the fiddler fancy steps the beat,
his flying fingers
Abracadabra, and the curtain of keeping time unlocks,
so we can slip unencumbered into timeless space
with the music.
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