Sitting on a stage, a nymph, a girl
among creatures so different from her
Big Brown eyes, with a hint of a
seductive grin, looking, glancing
from a noted page to a conductor's baton
to the others surrounding her slight body
the warmth of the night consumed
in her wooden flute between her ever moving fingers
dreams of the wooden homeland, birthplace,
her flute moves and trembles with the
remembrance of her faraway home
the dances of the trees with the spinning fawns
carrying out the unforgetable yet
somehow forgotten tune
of the woodland flute's deep resounding sounds.
Sad solumn yet fulfilling. hope and fear.
stories of love and hate.
Sitting among creatures so different. so alone,
with the warmth in her fingertips and
she is away from all that is her own.
