i saw them in Covent Garden
an old Chinese man
with a face like a moon
his skin stretched tight over his cheeks bones
a peaceful look in his eyes
he played an instrument I’d never seen
clear bell notes in sunlight shone
a reminder of snow on high peaks
the girl played a wooden flute
she swayed on the breeze
fragile, a tender flower
just beginning to bloom
her eyes held no secrets
i was swept away on the tune