In mistral breaths I 

sing out your memory 

and these salted tears will 

be the rosin of the bow 

for the air I will play 

astride the fountain bowl 

where a marble angel 

will weep a harmony-chorus 

and the air and the water 

will dance a merry jig and 

where the sparkle of the cascade 

will cry out that your passing 

has enriched this garden 

beyond the wildest imaginings 

of even the fairies.

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