The Singer

I woke and I sat ‘pon the whitened sands
Near the azure seas of immortal lands
And I rose and turned round to gaze at the sky
While I laughed and ran and I wondered why
I had come to this place where there was no death
To still my breath.

As I walked, approached a celestial man
Who showed me the way of a path that ran
To a shady glade and a shadowed nook
With the greenest grass and a running brook.
And he passed me a lyre – he had tuned each string –
Asked if I could sing?

Could I sing! Why the songs that went round my head!
I could sing all night! But of course! I said.
So I touched up the strings with a merry tune
Of the happiest song did I sing so soon.
While I sang in my joy and my happiness
I caused them distress.

So they seized my lyre and they threw it away
To the bed of the stream, there they let it lay.
Let a mortal play – all his songs weep sadness!
Every note he sings – sound despair an’ madness!
Touch his lyre no more, let it lie in the rill
And it lies there still.

So I wondered then, how a mortal heart
Could be healed in full, from this sorrow-smart
And be purified, from each tearful stain
Every fear removed, though by scorching flame.
For how else can my mortal heart enjoy
Their immortal joy?

2009-12-12 The Singer

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