by Geetashree Chatterjee
(New Delhi, India)
My pen had a bleary flow this morn
I could have told a tale on more poignant lines
So I picked up a woeful moon
Was about to dip it in a pallid sheen
Whence to my awe I find that the flute is still young
The melody unrestrained, serene, drips nectar on my ears
In haste I retrace my steps with a bounce
Spring has not bade yet an adieu, my friend
Comments for The Flute is Still Young
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