The music hangs over the musicians' heads
Yellow, blue-green, a dignified crimson;
A griffin from another poem entirely
Has been sniffing around this one
And insists on entering. He says
He can hear the frozen music --
One of Palestrina's early motets
Rescored for clarinet, trumpet and tin basin.
There were many odd creatures in the house
Where the painting hung but no griffin
That I can remember. The dragon that now
Lives on my shelf doesn't know him either.
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