The Frantic And Quite Daring Escape Of Young Beauty Poem by Walt Ostrander

With what resonating mystery
Do strings sound through the gallery?
Eight strong hands with fingers wise
Did I watch with unwavering eyes.

A decrescendo as stage lights quiver’d,
Such a voice from the distant river!
A clash of steel in the highest tower,
While floats a single patient flower.

The river’s voice sedates the fight,
As the virgin’s song is raped by light.
To see her face will condemn her guise,
To preserve such beauty, I close my eyes.

And as they closed I saw with grace
An answered tear upon her face.
If they should open she’ll not come back,
Thus depriving me of her final act.

What once was dim was then aglow,
And from the tower I gazed below
At castles, streams, and maidens fair;
From river’s edge, sang an echoed prayer.

And through the oaken paths he strode
With eyes set upon her high abode.
With quickened pace he stood below,
And saw with love what none could know.

The single flower then coalesced,
Upon her hand where it came to rest.
What wondrous beauty has Earth conceived,
What example of beauty could be believed?

A small bright light flickered through the shade
As she weakly grasped the balustrade.
It was but the ring upon the finger
Reflected from the costumed singer.

Four violins and cello
Play of love and muse of
(more than its own beauty,
Divine the words must be)
Life. (For I cannot find them)