Pieces en Concert -- Prelude, La Tromba, Air de
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celebrations there are tears,
A lonely longing for what cannot be.
Perhaps one lets it enter foolishly,
Passionate to weep for vanished years.
Yet living in the moment one is free,
Having jettisoned regrets and fears,
Open to the grace of eyes and ears,
Losing self in silent ecstasy.
In celebrating, one is marking time.
Deep beneath the ritual ballet
A tide removes the trite and the sublime,
Yearning, turning, churning through the day,
Sweeping all one cherishes away.