As a small boy he would sing
For he could run and play
Only if his sister slept;
He would sing
She would sleep; he had a charm
Of value to God’s & Kings;
As with all things, the commoner too
Employed the songmaker to sing.
Where from came the song
The songmaker never knew
That he had a song
That brought sleep to all
Was what the village knew.
The wait at the village well
Would lessen when he sang
That he never filled water, known
as other pots swished & clanged
All tired hearts rested when the songmaker sang.
His songs carried a simple melody
A balm for tensed & twisted nerves
The recalcitrant bride would say yes
A land unsold would find a buyer
When the songmaker’s tunes the air did rent..
None could figure, why the lamps
When lit one by one
Fancied the songmaker’s song
In the evening’s shadow from their glow, I’m told.
Lamps swayed, their flames rich raiments of gold.
In the nights in which the rich are enslaved
Sought are the songmaker’s charms
Long is the wait for that elusive mistress, sleep
The nights again strange, lonely, forlorn
The songmaker now lay forever asleep in his song.
[Oct 11th 2004 Copyright ]
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem