Allegro
Not just the crystal timbre
Drawn out by the violin bow;
But, the tang of spring moss
On the Laurentian moor /
The cinnamon accent singing
In the bite of Sunday’s apple cake /
The galloping
laughter ricocheting
Around during
the car ride
Home from the
airport /
The joyous
crazy cacophony
Of young
children’s voices
Bundling up
before going
Out to play
in the snow/
I am not the
slow and stately
Adagio.
Rather, I am the bright
Quick piercing
bliss of Allegro.
That is me.
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