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Harpist



A lonely Harpist

Resting on a bank, 

Tired, Worried, Numb

Her harp in her lap,

Eyes on the Moon,

her Song on the wind.

"Fly away, Fly away, Fly away

To me. Hold me, kiss me, 

Take this ache from my chest

Come back to my Arms,

Do not let me hurt any more."

Eyes now cloudy

Lips shaking with cold

She turned from the bank

The Moon watching her go