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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems permission to use
provided by the author. |
Thirty-five has all the joy he
needs,
Having memorized the sacred score.
Infinite beauty rests within his hands,
Rising from a sea of music stands,
The sound mere presence to the silent core,
Yet far from the rendition that he reads.
For now, the faint allusion that he
leads
Intensifies his avarice for more,
Visioning the glory he demands
Even though but life can lie in store. |