The Allegro slowly turns
In a windy caress, as if the White muslin,
wound around the waist,
Draws from the depth of mystery
The next note is stopping
Askance, the bar is lost
in the cadenza of a rolling agony
The wait must end
Between the variations and tempo
The song rises in hope
The mutiny must have been lost
In one single sacrifice
The last notes are sad reminders
Waiting expectantly, unsure
In duty or neglect
The ideal rested, unconditional
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