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Strings

A lonely fiddle, its strings once taut tense and
stretched, longing to be tuned and played.
The limp horsehair bow, longs to be tightened
and drawn in sweet reverberations.

A grounded kite, too long flightless -
too long not tethered to laughter
and coaxed to fly in a summer sky
on the breath of smiles.

A forgotten puppet - still strung;
a keepsake perched like an ornament
that never moved, never danced and
never brought smiles nor tears
to those with inimitable imaginations,
waits patiently for a child to say,
"Daddy, will you help him dance once more?"

Copyright © | Year Posted 2018




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Date: 3/11/2018 12:19:00 PM
Ahh!!! The puppeteer. Enjoyed reading your work. I wonder if my puppet will come out of the closet ever again. Soup mail. Sara
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Date: 1/29/2018 2:26:00 PM
the collected things from life never used again put away like a museum display...
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Date: 1/27/2018 8:24:00 PM
Discarded strings ... so very sad. Love how you describe the violin, the kite and the puppet Craig. Best, Judy
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Date: 1/27/2018 3:30:00 PM
Those "no stings attached - strings".
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