For a Singer
Death clogged this flute At its highest note; Song sleeps here mute In this breathless throat.
Countee Cullen
Death clogged this flute At its highest note; Song sleeps here mute In this breathless throat.
The speaker addresses a singer whose voice has been cut off at its peak, comparing the body to a flute that death has clogged. That highest note—the moment of greatest power and beauty—never gets to finish.
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