Nov 132013
 
Swiftly, gamely, mademoiselle
Made a wish to hear toned notes
Floating from my old wood flute
Revealingly.

Poignant practice in the park
Between our picnic and the flocks
Achieved some partial good
                      when I stopped
And stared at mademoiselle 'til dark.

This vain breath that I extend
To where my antique wood flute ends
By spastic clasp of crippled fingers
In incapable mimesis

Can't catch quite your natural and clear
Childish laughter that charms the air.

Mallarme

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