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In Ouachita's murmurs, where pine needles sigh, I trace the mountains' ancient, weathered crown. Silvered river forgotten secrets float by, And fills my heart, a sonorous chamber now. A flame ignites, dispelling shadows deep, A beacon for lost souls on twilight's rim. Forgotten songs within my spirit leap, A lullaby for weary hearts, I hymn. Florence, a palimpsest where sun-kissed tones reside, A heart that brims with melody's embrace. Her dreams take flight, on notes both fierce and wide, A symphony of strength, etched upon her face. Yet memories linger, like a clinging vine, A constant reminder of a harsher time. Traversing Bach's majestic score, I learn The language of ascending keys, a path unfurled. My mother's voice, an oboe's seraphic burn, Bridges earth and sky, a beacon in the world. With anthems rising, praise songs upon the air, I find my voice, a note entwined in deeper prayer. To halls of Boston, where music's spirit thrives, My passion guides me, a relentless tide. A woman hued, where marble coldly strives, I etch my name, where prejudice once vied. My voice ascends beneath the vaulted dome, A symphony unveiled, a soul to call her own. Silence descends, a weight upon my soul, Unplayed notes quiver, a stifled, mournful sound. But spirit unbroken, I reach for a new goal, African rhythms course, a fertile ground. Their rebel beat defies the stifling hush, A variegated web, where sorrow and joy rush. The blues, a weeping willow's mournful sigh, Knitted with laughter, a timeless, promising spread. Of cotton fields and trains that onward fly, Of love's embrace, and hearts both lost and bred. Folk melodies, a future yet unseen, A raven, wise and strong, on hope's dark wings convene. Then dawns a day, where victory takes flight, My music soars, bathed in resplendent light. The Wanamaker prize, a long-awaited right, The first of all, her name etched in luminous glory. Across the land, on wings of melody's band, Her music dances, embraced by a grateful hand. Shattered barriers, a pathway carved with care, For dreamers yet to come, a legacy to share. Though stories shift, the spirit’s truth lingers there, A whispered promise, on a soulful, hopeful air. In every soaring note, her essence takes its flight, A testament to courage, bathed in hope's warm light. So let the music flow, a symphony unbound, A song for dreamers, where hope's sweet notes resound. With resilience as our shield, and passion as our guide, The world's a stage, where all our voices confide. This is her story, in music's language told, Florence Price, a voice, a heart, a spirit to behold. May music linger, a radiant refrain, The memory of her courage, an everlasting and glorious strain.
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