Sonnet for True Music
A choir of ten thousand voices murmurs
Darkly for me alone this windy night.
Now they murmur; but their music shimmers
At times with an exhilarating, bright
Happiness. Most often it is a smooth,
Endless, liquid flowing of harmony.
It can a hurting soul unbidden soothe,
Which humbly bows to such complexity.
Yet no director guides these witless ones.
They sing no lyrics penned in careful thought.
In chaos they begin. When they are done
No hand records the magic they have wrought.
Never could a master their song conceive,
The chorus of ten thousand rustling leaves.
June 22, 2002
Copyright by the author