The music sounds from places Sibylline
where the hands of the fairies
embroidered pentagrams,
in delicate silk threads ...
and released to fly the sixteenth note, supported by the liquor
wandering
that opens the door to the creation, inspiration
to attend ...
And being one, untimely,
instincts and muse,
accompany the soul ...
castles constructed
notes
caught resisting winds, and causing cries
honey and rum ... And in this world
almost no stars,
where dreams die and cuts
poets
music sounds like a survivor of romance,
as an estate, like a mirage
the soul ...
Where the birds nest,
from the heart of the hollow
or from the mountain,
whistling to the rhythm of sparrows, or dawning
frosted ... Hover
music,
by the grace of being.
And it sounds from the horizon to infinity
my house,
or raindrops tapping
land or from sea
bringing poachers flats,
or well water that fills pitchers
,
for wetting beds
that communicants
pace or just ... Symphonic
from my heart ...
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