Simon's harmonica

At the porch
overlooking the valley
often whence got the chance
To get the glimpse
Of glowworms
Winging in and out
of hedges and bushes
Of flowering myrtles

I would think of Simon,
And how he blew and bent the air
Through his harmonica,

The pleasant silence
seemed to be a perfect accompaniment
To the tune that he gave birth to,
It came wafting across everything
that were around us-
The wagonload of wood at the mill
The shepherd's hut
The barn...

Simon had been a bumpkin,
As some would say,
But then when he had
his harmonica
He became
the stream , forever flowing,
He became
the earth ,moist and fertile,
He became
The air, light and unburdened,
He became
The music, noiseless and serene,

Standing at the porch
I would hear Simon.


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