There was to be, my notes
tell me, a poem
About the trumpeter Columbus brought with him
To play a fanfare for the
Chinese Emperor.
In China, three ghosts and a raven
Were waiting to whirl him
and his horn
To a different court
entirely. I believe
The God of Calligraphy had
agreed
To make an appearance
halfway through.
Alas, the trumpeter or I
missed our time
And the poem sailed off
without him.
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