The Song

I sit in my chair, facing forward,
waiting for my cue,
I know I have to wait; it’s
not yet my turn; for once it is right
for the men to go first.
I close my eyes, swaying with
the melody that flows so
sweetly, so smoothly . . .

And then I hear it:

A line of song so pure and
perfect, serene and full of such
wondrous harmony!

I cannot help myself.

I feel it creeping, starting in the
pit of my belly, slowly moving
up my spine, inch by inch,
climbing up towards my heart.
When it hits me, I am gone.

I melt into a sea of bliss,
rolling in the waves of his song.
Rising and falling with each
lilt of his harmony,
I nearly forget myself.

I know that if he were to ask,
I would surrender myself at once,
heart, soul, mind, and body.
If only he would ask,
I would be his forever.
To stay in his song, to
bathe in his melody, to
lie in his harmonies,
O! the music we could create! ---

My eyes open reluctantly,
taking in my lost reality,
and the joy I feel from
creating song seems somewhat
diminished.
I open my book to the right page,
and begin to weave a tune,
half smiling to myself,
because even in the
glorious fullness of the choir,
I can still hear the
purest strain of song,
and in that song
I live.