The Violinist

The violinist
On Lloyd George Avenue
Stands proudly
In the open window
Sending her music
Into a world gone silent
To revel in newly found echoes
Seeing itself at sunset
In Paris, or Rome
Not in Cardiff Bay
On a Friday afternoon
Though even that
Cannot beat
The bliss of the moment
When we stopped to listen
At length
In the company of
Coppers
Content to stay
Long after
The rest of us
Had moved on

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