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The Tuba Player

Walking through the meadow I heard

a distant familiar sound no bird no bark no human.

I stopped to listen.  Could it be?  Out here?  Bagpipes?

Indeed.  Following the drone I found a lone bagpiper

who quit when I arrived packed up ignored my shy applause.

No kilt, no delightfully odd look, decidedly unlike that

strolling tuba player who once captured my imagination

blowing old standards:  Button Up Your Overcoat

Good Night Irene, Moon River, Over the Rainbow.

Oh I could have fallen right in love with that tuba player!

Chose instead to write him into a little something

of a love story, charming whimsical and spare

leaving my romantic notions perfectly intact.

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