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