Song without words
by Authearth
Posted: Tuesday, February 19, 2008 Word Count: 209 |
"Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still"
(T.S. Eliot)
I told my sad story to the wind and, brutal wind, It would not listen to a single word.
So I sung to the cold cruel sea,
But it shrugged off my song in the toss of a wave,
Even the dolphins refused to hear me.
I gave in and no longer cared,
And I tried hard to sit still.
Slowly, with great effort,
I learnt to sit still for short periods.
And I learnt that my insignificant song was part of a greater chorus:
“Many creatures have reason to feel sad
And who can claim to be lonelier than the sea?
Even the sun destroys itself to give life.
The beauty that exists in yellow leaves,
That glint once in the sun as they are torn from the trees,
Is all the more touching because of this.”
We should spend our lives:
Listening for our echoes
In the silence between birdsong,
Looking for our image
In the spaces between stars.
Life without suffering, toil or sorrow,
Does not exist here,
Neither shall we.
There are other songs that we must try to hear,
Perhaps we will then be free.
James Grimsby [url]http://www.authearth.com/poetscorner/topic/show?id=1406717%3ATopic%3A3143[/url]
Teach us to sit still"
(T.S. Eliot)
I told my sad story to the wind and, brutal wind, It would not listen to a single word.
So I sung to the cold cruel sea,
But it shrugged off my song in the toss of a wave,
Even the dolphins refused to hear me.
I gave in and no longer cared,
And I tried hard to sit still.
Slowly, with great effort,
I learnt to sit still for short periods.
And I learnt that my insignificant song was part of a greater chorus:
“Many creatures have reason to feel sad
And who can claim to be lonelier than the sea?
Even the sun destroys itself to give life.
The beauty that exists in yellow leaves,
That glint once in the sun as they are torn from the trees,
Is all the more touching because of this.”
We should spend our lives:
Listening for our echoes
In the silence between birdsong,
Looking for our image
In the spaces between stars.
Life without suffering, toil or sorrow,
Does not exist here,
Neither shall we.
There are other songs that we must try to hear,
Perhaps we will then be free.
James Grimsby [url]http://www.authearth.com/poetscorner/topic/show?id=1406717%3ATopic%3A3143[/url]