The Magical Sound

December 7, 2009
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Her fingers fly,
Up, down, in magical directions.
She doesn’t like her sound,
She changes her reed.
Once again she’s back on top,
Producing a magical sound.

She reaches to a key,
But her hands melt into silver,
Her body, the wood.
Her legs combine to make a hollow hole,
And her neck, plastic.

She is now one with her sound,
But not for herself.
She is herself for others,
To make that magical sound.

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