that mandolin girl,

Wish you could be
That mandolin girl,
Your hair flowing down
Like a cascade
And that red-brown mandolin in your hand,
And I , your notebook
From where you look
And find notes of your strings,
From where you find that music
Which to the whole world rhythm brings,
Wish you could be
That mandolin girl,
And I , those notes that cause a mild soothing twirl
Into the stagnant afternoon air, sunlit and slight warm,
Perfect like a late autumn
And early stage of a winter,
Like a picture,
Like a setting.

( Note: upon remembering a painting, by Michel Garnier)


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