27 May, 2010


In the softly chirping burping
The wand of white ticks timely
With the sweep of warm wraps grazing
And the elephant stomp hazing.
They build the picture solid
of another world less squalid
Where wind swept trees sing grandly
And low breezes follow gladly.
Down the hillside rivers fall
Off cliffs and mountains tall
By empty gardens of sandy rock
And mysterious forest of whispers shhhh

Down by places where children gallop
With the horses of the rallop
Waving fields of swaying grasses
Within which the small foal masters
The art of leaping, falling
Dancing to and rolling
In the wisp-soaked musical lay
For which the poorest need not pay.

From the lowly tinkle to
the loudest booming cymbal
and the timpanis build the sound
where the percussionist looks not around.
In the thunderous applause
the strings all sing in one accord
while winds they all float higher
and the brasses speak as crier.

The swelling of the tide
Ceases in the stillness
the audience stand in wonder
the orchestra not asunder
to acknowledge one who brought this about
who with patient words did not shout
his dream and vision
pictures tall
brought tonight
to sound the hall.

No comments:

Post a Comment