Album Leaf

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All at once, as if in play,
Mademoiselle, she who moots
A wish to hear how it sounds today
The wood of my several flutes

It seems to me that this foray
Tried out here in a country place
Was better when I put them away
To look more closely at your face

Yes this vain whistling I suppress
In so far as I can create
Given my fingers pure distress
It lacks the means to imitate

Your very natural and clear
Childlike laughter that charms the air.

© Stéphane Mallarme