Not wood or bone, but something root
Deep in the earth, a magic thing,
That makes the listening spirit sing.

Each note he plays, a hidden door,
To memories we knew before.
A happy laugh, a tear that fell,
Stories the heart remembers well.

The sound, it washes clean and bright,
Like sunbeams chasing away the night.
It calls to feelings, lost and found,
Safe in the flute's enchanted sound.

He plays it true, he plays it clear,
Wipes away all doubt and fear.
A simple song, a gentle breeze,
That rustles softly through the trees.

Let your own heart become the flute,
Let love and kindness bear their fruit.
Then all the world will understand,
The magic held within your hand.