Some people say I should have used my gift,
To sing for my true love while he still lived;-
Upon this earth,- they have a point, but then
I might have wasted treble strings or pen.
I would have failed so much eliciting
Desired music from my pen or string,
I don’t regret I did not praise in verse
My love, my spouse, while he still lived on earth.
It seems to me that souls do understand
That grief improves the tone and instrument,
Lo Mozart the divine, what joy and pain,
So poignantly rings out with every strain.
And Bach,- celestial music builder, - he
True Man Made Music- with humility;
Preludes and Fugues on organs or guitars
With mordents trilling move remotest stars
Great sorrow teaches lessons unheard of
Through BEING’S gratuitousness and love,
Free, gratuitous comes this wondrous gift,
Bestowed to those alone that are bereaved.
It plumbs the depths in motion, pause and rest,
Engendering new trills that sound off best
Acumenates the ears for chords of pride,
That so disturb when strings are wound too tight.
And grief,- a new dimension added on
To music’s stanzas harmony and tone
It did intensify tonality
To subtly modulate from key to key
Sweet to the ear is gladness’ praise’s word,
But sweeter still is sorrow’s harpsichord,
These twain must meet, and tenderly embrace,
So tunes and sounds inspire awe and grace
Your poem is poignant and exquisite Elizabeth.
Beautifully crafted and expressed!
Even the angels would cry upon hearing its strains and refrains.
And I am sure Stephen hears them too.
Lovely