You suppose that by breaking this piccolo you will put an end to
the forbidden tunes.
But I will continue to be sung.
I will seep into the dreams of your children and they shall wake
up humming me.
I will be played on oboes,
And hammered out on drums.
I will fill the airways.
Like a million baby spiders blowing in the wind on
I will colonize your trees and lawns and gardens
with song-like webs.
Your neighbors will whistle me as they walk down the street in front
of your house.
On some Damascus day you too will find me irresistible and will
play me like a CD as you drive down roads to new places.