he doesn't know how to count.
whether it's Lullaby or the Magic flute,
we muddle through musically
while no one walks by and not
a single store is open
there would be no classic metronomes to buy
or new books of duets.
there are no other musicians with whom
to play as we are all sequestered in our homes
I'll play with him, the one who cannot count
but who is here, now, instrument in hand.
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