The Fluatist
The goatherd sat beneath the bo tree
On his flute playing his favourite melody
His loneliness no one could tell
His music only the meadows could spell
Along came a fair maiden her water jug to fill
She looked at him coyly her bright eyes bearing a twinkle
Red and orange hues of her skirt danced to the breeze
As she moved gracefully to the water stream
Her anklets joined in the musical symphony
Goatherd’s heart began racing along a fiery trail
His music filling the meadows with a new symphony
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