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21.5.11

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The Piper's Club
by Ulick O'Connor

The leaping finger tightens on the string.
Bow slips sideways in a sudden swoop;
The fiddler's found his air; with head on swing,
His glazed eyes ignore the captive group.

But oh! my knuckles whiten at my plight.
What silken word can match the fiddler's fling
Who saw a blackbird in a gap of light
And trapped its sweetness on a tightened string?



For me, the best feeling in the world is when you can justly and honestly bring an image, an idea, a word to life through form...just like the fiddler in this poem.

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