Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Last Poem

Ok, so this one is different-- a sort of mock epic, whirlwind rhyming style.
Dr. Seausicalish

When Sara sings the world is shook
Divas stop and Baritones look
to see who makes such gracious sounds
so far beyond their measly rounds
Sara sings rarely now, her powers to move beyond
her control sing that fateful day
When fate Ordained
What Sara would sing.
If began as a lilting bit, sung as she walked to the fair
she loved the way the birds joined in
and a breeze tousled her hair
A Patron of the arts, so smart
and dashing was he, heard her singing and grabbed her arm and towed her
to the jubilee
A bit confused, the lass followed, still humming that sweet little tune
and soon enough what had been a cloudy day could now belong to June
He took her to the stage, told the Soprano to Step Aside
all eyes where on the Patron, all eyes opened Wide
He shoved her forward into the light
"Your voice is heaven,my dear.
Now sing for the entire world,
this is a joy that All should hear."
Sara gave a nervous smile--what's a peasant girl to do
When forced to perform like so?
She opened her mouth and complied, singing a little tune
No words had she, never had a single syllable form from her tongue
Only Melody but that is enough
The Crowd grew silent, the Orchestra stopped
Even the Soprano shut her mouth
The breeze stilled, the people stood, and birds slowly gathered round
as the notes reached a soaring height and then all teh songs birds joined
as before the peoples' very eyes, a glorious scene was formed
The audience gasped as one, when a castle Swam into view
set in a landscape of Cliffs and Waterfalls, a fallow deer or two
and a dizzying array of notes fell from our dear girls tongue
while small frogs joined the chorus, pipping and rum-tum-tum
A cricked added her contribution as well-water obligingly trickles
A brook moved closer to join the symphony as the branches picked up a rattle
The wind was eager to join the World that Sara so obligingly sang
and she began to dance and twirl around the girl and o'er again
The waters moved in closer, most the fair was wet
The creatures moved up higher, their part was not done yet
Dear Sara, her eyes still shut, let the music move on through
as the wind began a spirited gavotte that took hats and umbrellas too
The wind began to whip and whirl
and still Sara sang as a storm began to grow as the notes turned deeper in
The waters roes, the wind did howl, clouds rolled up from Calais
Still Sara sang her song on that fateful day
The spell-bound audience was awakened
by a torrent of rain
splashing merely, its own little tune
soon would turn more grim
The people ran for cover, then moved to higher ground
as they watched Sara's song taking o'er the town
For fateful hours it seemed they stood
until on poor lad asked
"What of the Singing Girl?
Is she still in the mess?"
The people gasped as they realized--
they still heard her Voice
Sara still sang below
While all of Nature had joined the chorus
A brave lad said "I'll rescue her!"
His mother said "Shut up!"
They all looked to the Patron
Who had forced the singer up
on them. "A witch!" he exclaimed with some regret
"She should be fine-- just a little wet."
"She's no witch! She has a gift, a song all want to hear!
And it seems till now she hid is well, singing far from ears!"
The people were in confusion-- should they let the singer drown?
Or risk any one their own in the slowly sinking town?
Just as sudden, the storm stopped and one pure sound held through
A delicate, simply melody cut the silence in two
as the clouds rolled our and the waters moved
back to their rightful places
The birds settled down on the now silent trees
amazement bright on the peoples faces
They crept down to the ruined fair
to see if the maiden still stood
And there she was, hardly mussed hair
thinking "Did I sing good?"
She had not seen the clouds
The winds barely kissed her
So deep had Sara gone
lost in eternal bliss
of heaven's true song
They stared and started and nervously hummed
as she slowly oped her eyes
to see all the destruction
"What happened!" she longed to cry
A kindly matron took the maid
gently off the stage
off behind a toppled tent
and quietly explained
Sara understaood
she knew the power in a song
She promised, best she could
to keep quiet from now on
The lady sighed with relief
told the girl no to worry
that she was free to go, this wasn't her fault
but that Sara might want to hurry
Sara nodded, opened her mouth, then shut it at the matron's gasp
Instead of singing for her horse, Sara merely gestured to ask
The horse was brought and Sara rode
fourth from the jubilee
The people sighed and went to work
cleaning the debris
The Patron was duely embarrassed
he paid much for his impulsive act
And Sara still came occasionally to town
wearing a broad and hiding hat
She still sings for the woods
the birds do love her sound
But Sara never sings where human ears abound
She has a gift, a story
that no words could e'er express
And so when Sara sings
only she knows the Rest.

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