Along with the fluting wren,
I welcome morning,
its density uplifting birdsong like an opus.
the orchestra may take me
tippy, tippy toeing through morning
… floating above the bar line …
… soaring … .
And as the horns sound their mellow call,
I surrender to the dawn,
pirouetting and melting according to the score,
carried by bells — both fat and slim —
catching and turning my drifting mind,
toward that dimmer light.
in the soft, muted plains,
Safe from the brash demanding day;
able to unravel before the melodic violins,
like sheets of fair music dancing on air.
eternity is but a shadow
laying tenderly on twilight’s breast,
waiting for the wise to reclaim their senses
from the impatient grasp of the urban enthusiast.
But, let the record show,
how fearlessly I’ll break bond with fools,
and that come fatigue or vivacity,
this treasure I mean to recoup —
diving into the boundless galaxy,
upon those emotive ivories,
with the virtuoso commanding:
Up and over the aging dells,
across the craggy spheres,
through the tinkling bells,
beyond the booming brasses
and behind the whistling reeds,
joy be mine.