Panpipes Are Playing Poem by Mark Heathcote
Panpipes Are Playing
Panpipes are playing in my chest
but I don't hear their tune, I guess
only a little of that music; I attest
to know, so mutely, I must digress.
It takes a finer ear than mine
not to mime and unravel its music.
Maybe, it'll take an angel,
on her harp to pluck those strings.
That'll impart…
the sound of an ocean, drowning
in that ferrous; gale of turbulent love
before I hear the music of love.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/6/2024 6:33:04 AM # 1.0.0.1119
