The instrumentalist an
artist
Not with a red –point
brush
Rather a solitary blue pen
She creates with a
twist
Draws with a framed
hush
She always plays in her
den
Few instruments, most
unturned
Are they plucked or
struck?
No mater in her palms,
lie
Her style still
unzoomed
Instruments out of
entertaining luck
Will they last or fly?
BY M.O.O
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