SING ME A SONG

 

Sing me a song.

Write me a melody.

Stroke the keys.

Massage the ivories.

Raise your voice high

So I can hear your words.

Words of hope and loss.

Sing them loud and clear.

I close my eyes.

I can hear your words.

I see your fingers

Stroking the keys.

The words take flight.

They reverberate through time.

They leave your lips

To land on mine.

A sweet melody

To soothe my advancing years.

A pretty song

To fill my empty soul.

PLAY ME A SONG

“Self Portrait with a Harp” (1791) (detail) by Rose-Adélaïde Ducreux (1761-1802).

Play me a song.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love your singing voice,

But the harp is my choice.

The music soothes my sad soul

From the day taking its toll.

I need the music today.

Please, sit for me and play.

SING ME A SONG

SING ME A SONG 

Sing me a song. 

Write a melody 

Of times gone by 

And moments lost in time. 

Stroke the keys. 

Massage the ivories. 

Raise your voice high 

So I can hear your words. 

Words of hope and loss. 

Sing them loud and clear. 

Stories of faraway places 

And times that are gone. 

I close my eyes. 

I can hear your words. 

I see your fingers 

Stroking the keys. 

The words take flight. 

They reverberate through time. 

They leave your lips 

To land on mine. 

A sweet melody 

To soothe my advancing years. 

A pretty song To fill my empty heart.

SING ME A SONG

SING ME A SONG

Sing me a song.

Write a melody

Of times gone by

And moments lost in time.

Stroke the keys.

Massage the ivories.

Raise your voice high

So I can hear your words.

Words of hope and loss.

Sing them loud and clear.

Stories of faraway places

And times that are gone.

I close my eyes.

I can hear your words.

I see your fingers

Stroking the keys.

The words take flight.

They reverberate through time.

They leave your lips

To land on mine.

A sweet melody

To soothe my advancing years.

A pretty song

To fill my empty heart.

THE VOICE

The evil lies within.

Each of us has the voice.

The voice enticing us to be bad.

It offers suggestions for revenge.

Immoral ways to succeed.

It never sleeps.

It appears in our nightmares.

Forever ready to lead us

down dark pathways.

Always on the hunt for

new followers.

We don’t have to feed it.

But let it starve.

PLAY ME A SONG

the-garden-of-delights

“Self Portrait with a Harp” (1791) (detail) by Rose-Adélaïde Ducreux (1761-1802).

Play me a song.

Don’t get me wrong.

I love your singing voice.

But the harp is my choice.

The music soothes my sad soul.

From the day taking its toll.

I need the music today.

Please sit down with me and play.

WRITE ME A MELODY

Sing me a song.

Write me a melody

Of times gone by

And moments lost in time.

Stroke the keys.

Massage the ivories.

Raise your voice high

Until I hear your words.

Words of hope and loss.

Sing them loud and clear.

Stories of faraway​ places

And times that are long gone.

I close my eyes.

I can still hear your words.

I can see your fingers

Stroking the black and white.

Your words have taken flight.

They reverberate through time.

They have left your lips

To land on mine.

A sweet melody

To soothe my advancing years.

A pretty song
​
​To wipe away my empty tears.

THE VOICE

The evil within.

We all have that voice inside.

The voice enticing us to be bad.

Offering suggestions of revenge.

Immoral ways to succeed.

It never sleeps.

It appears in our

dreams and nightmares.

Forever ready to lead us

down dark pathways.

Always on the hunt for

new followers.

We don’t have to feed it.

Let it starve.

A FLEETING MEMORY

Those precious words,
"Mommy, pick me up."
Who hasn’t heard them?
The young voice.
The little squeak of pleasure.
The happy little face.
Remember it.
Enjoy it.
Savor it.
For soon it will only
be a fleeting memory.

SING ME A SONG

SING ME A SONG

Sing me a song.

Write me a melody.

Of times gone by

And moments lost in time.

Stroke the keys.

Massage the ivories.

Raise your voice high

Until all can hear your words.

Words of hope and loss.

Sing them loud and clear.

Stories of far away places

And times long gone.

I close my eyes.

I can still hear your words.

I can see your fingers

Stroking the keys so softly.

The words have taken flight.

They reverberate through time.

They have left your lips

To land in my heart.

A sweet melody

To soothe my advancing years.

A pretty song

To fill my empty heart.

A FLEETING MEMORY

Those precious words,
"Mommy, pick me up."
Who hasn’t heard them?
The young voice.
The little squeak of pleasure
once you bend down.
The happy little face
gazing up at you.
Remember it.
Enjoy it.
Savor it.
For soon it will only
be a fleeting memory.

THE VOICE

The evil within.
We all have that voice inside.
The voice enticing us to be bad.
Offering suggestions of revenge.
Immoral ways to succeed.
It never sleeps.
It appears in our
dreams and nightmares.
Forever ready to lead us
down dark pathways.
Always on the hunt for
new followers.
We don’t have to feed it.
Let it starve.