Copyright (c) 1994
----

    Oh drat, I can't remember the melody,
    Have I contracted some amnesiatic malady?
    The tune I used to croon 
    Has flown the coop.
    
    It must be my dithering dotage
    That has caused evaporation of the notage
    That formerly second nature was,
    I heard a fly buzz.
    
    When I died I wanted it sung at my wake
    That tune that I used to croon so well,
    But the cantor'll have to go jump in the lake
    Or might as well, on hearing my death knell.
    
    I used to pick it out on the piano, each note
    Known by rote, by innumerable repetition,
    With never e'en a single elision,
    Now it's gone, neither notes nor words
    Are recollected, they've all flown like birds
    Or like those who've defected and renounced
    Their heritage, consigning it to perdition.
    
    I feel I must fly as well, fly in pursuit
    Of the notes, and words, and chords,
    Fly far from the nattering hordes
    Who madden me with their constant noises
    In the guise of joys. Is
    It possible I could find my song
    Being played on some fiddle or lute
    In Hong Kong, or perhaps Beirut?
    
    Oh drat, what a flail t'would be!
    No one else knows it, they couldn't,
    For you see, t'was my song only,
    Created by me for me,
    So they wouldn't perform it, you see,
    And I'd only build lonely on lonely
    In some far country.
    
    In death my song has me preceded,
    Oh drat, I needed it, it is wrong
    To outlive one's song.

3 responses total.

hmm

I like that...

Thanks.

(#0 is, of course, intended to be read aloud.)

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