Not one piece of you is ever the same.
Like the roar of a lion or the call of a cuckoo,
Nobody could ever say that you
Had only one purpose.
People's love for you is infinite,
You bring such joy to the little bit we get
Of life. And those of us who embrace you in full,
Are probably the ones who see the world for how beautiful
It really is.
There is an abundance, a plethora
It would be impossible to count you in number.
And yet, people will keep insisting
On listening, playing and composing
You.
Music.
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