tomorrow's the day
when I will lift my flute to my lips
and play to the world, colors shifting from
warm to cold, staccato to legato smooth,
composers ranging over five hundred years
the final one resting here, on my shoulders
I will look out at my audience and play my own
from song, to hum, from low to high, invented
in that moment, never to be repeated.
I will sing my song to the world
it will be waiting with open arms.
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