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Pan Pipes
by
Rusty Broadspear
A variation
of geometric shafts of golden light
Illuminated the unsullied quality of morning.
In a clearing a sleeping dove awoke, took flight.
Mushrooms and toadstools tilted to the dawning.
A young boy, bedecked in green with rosy face,
Sparkling eyes, sprawled on the branch of a tree,
Jutting over a stream, that flowed with crystal
grace.
Flawlessness embraced, kissed with divine
fragility.
From the branch of a tree that overhung a stream,
A bevy of butterflies burst forth, sharing shafts of
light.
Scattered fragrance, a startled deer, and a pipers
theme.
The warmth of approaching day, tiptoed so slight.
The pan piper boy saw all, whilst blowing notes
away.
Gazing at tiny fairies, gleefully dancing in the
glade.
At random, each fairy waved to the boy, joyful and
gay.
And the boy winked back and smiled, while he
played.
Bluebells bowed to the fairies, spilling their
final dew.
A wise frog, croaked appreciation, from his warming
rock.
Then, through a door of dandelion leaves, perfectly
on cue,
Stepped Fairy Queen, sight supreme, in sinuous,
flowing frock.
Pan pipe notes crescendoed, fairies curtsied, a
silence reigned.
She waved her wand and spelled peace to the
universe.
The boy leaped down, played music, danced,
entertained.
The poet hid in the shadows, silent witness,
writing his verse.
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