Music be everywhere.
The wind that brushes through my hair,
the thunder that splits the air,
the breeze that dances in the leaves,
the brook that springs from craggy greaves.
The bending of the flowers fair,
the roaring of the water-stair,
the nodding of the whipperwill,
the crying of the windy hill.
The falcon as it scales the air,
the bear that snores without a care,
the owl that moans throughout the night,
the bucks that crash in the fight.
The weeping of the willow trees,
the buzzing of the honey bees,
the crackling of the dying fire,
the slurping of the sinking mire.
The steed that gallops hard but free,
the mead that whispers what’s to be,
the pool that ripples ‘neath the moon,
the lark that wings his tearful tune.
The stars that twinkle in the night,
the moon that shimmers bright and white,
the blackness of the midnight hour,
the silence of the ancient tow’r.
The peace that follows after the storm,
the snow that swirls ’round cottage warm,
the rest found in the father’s firm grip,
the lullaby upon the mother’s lip.
Listen. Listen. Life is fleeting by.