A Lament

Who will write the lays and songs,

And pen the words proclaimed by throngs,

When poets we long loved have passed

And through the veil they sleep at last?


When sounds and tunes from soulless gears

Fall meaningless upon our ears,

Where are the spirits deep, who feel,

And paint with words in world of steel?


When heart is gone from music, fair

No more will be such song; for there

Is kinship in a lay soft sung

In words first felt, seen, ‘neath the sun.

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