Picture Courtesy: Me and my pipe.
what you'd whispered to me.
Today's solitude I address
with tunes that used to be.
Each finger that reveals
the hollow that is my flute,
shrewdly conceals
this heart that is mute.
My breath I lend to songs
so that you may live.
For each one of your wrongs,
I have a note to give.
I flow, I float, I fly at times,
I feel, I feign, I fail.
It is but a frail hope that chimes
your name to no avail.
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