The song of the birds

Ignoring unguided fingers slowly sliding over the burnished neck
of Casals’ violoncello in El cant dels ocells, a sense of decorum,
a relentless companion of pity, renders the unnecessary ceremony
of serving a sovereign inevitable. And only the birds, carried out
in cages from crowded squares for the offence of their singing,
sense the falsity of this servile note.

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