Finis Coronat Opus

Footsteps mark a winding path Through a forest grey, Creeping to and fro beneath  Skies of winter day. Soon, the travelers hope, ‘ere long, Sun will show his face, And somber clouds, so grey and wan, Will swiftly float away. Amid the forest dim and dark, Such hopes could seem amiss; But never yet has Time been marked Without fair Springtime’s kiss.

Just as Spring ‘round corner peeked, Awakened from her slumbers deep, While snowdrifts lay upon the ground, And creatures small could not be found; As soon as Sun began to heat The frozen soil ‘neath icy feet, And warm breeze woke the early blooms To glance up at the waxing moon; Alas! then Winter blasted down Again, upon the soft’ning ground; With wind, and snow, and steely skies, He drove the waking life to hide. For Springtime yet was not to be; She’d merely stirred in slumbering, And Winter’s voice must have his say Before the Sun drives him away.

O’er a vast expanse of stars, A lonely trav’ller gazes far, To see, perhaps, if in their gleam A chart bound homeward may be seen. For countless weeks, ‘neath shrouded skies, Her wandering tribe has cast their eyes Abroad, as far as mortal may, Until the dying of the day, Seeking paths beneath the sun Where their long journey may then run, And finally, ‘ere winter’s dawn, Lead their faltering steps back home. Lonely trav’ller muses long Upon her people, bold and strong, Longing for their swift return To homes where hearts for years have yearned. Though solely on her shoulders weighs The fate of all who with her stay, Yet none of them will her depart, But bravely strengthen faintest heart.

A single note, through silence, floats, Resounding in the ears of those Who listen keenly for the sounds That swirl, and dance, and shower down, Inspiring in the faintest heart A love of beauty, light, and art. Lonely note is joined ‘ere long With thunderous rolling of the drum,  And surging strings on air take flight And hang aloft like stars alight; Their motion keen wraps up the soul In thoughts of deeds done long ago. Now loudly calls the trumpet tone, Amid the melody now sprung And grown to fulness in the ear Of all those, rapt, who listen here, Whose minds are treading distant shores Where music brings them, evermore. Alas, the song must soon abate, And melody begin to fade, Like sunset, sending earth to sleep, To dream in darkness, long and deep; What power has such simple mote, As melody from one lone note.