The Flute is Still Young

by Geetashree Chatterjee
(New Delhi, India)

My pen had a bleary flow this morn
I could have told a tale on more poignant lines
So I picked up a woeful moon
Was about to dip it in a pallid sheen
Whence to my awe I find that the flute is still young
The melody unrestrained, serene, drips nectar on my ears
In haste I retrace my steps with a bounce
Spring has not bade yet an adieu, my friend