Hi, Hilary—
I really like this piece. Sorry to be late to the party, but I wasn’t sure if my reading was on track. I read it as a poem about imagination, and the difficulty of turning what we imagine into art in the mundane world of money, chores, and real problems. Jack has returned from an exciting creative adventure. He has brought back a hen that lays golden eggs, so his mom has forgiven him for indulging his flights of fancy since he is able to make a living from it, but the harp that sang so beautifully in his imagination is spoiled in the real world. Jack wants others to hear the beauty of the song.
Fine work!
Glenn
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