Matthew Music

by Gertrude Olga Down
Ontario, Canada

On the night your son is born
A poet launches fledgling verse
Into hushed expectant crowd
Seated in silent gallery.
With fluid voice and tender tones
He sings visions of dank tombs, measures
Abandoned monuments filled with
Dry memories of futures lost.
Lyrics birthed from fertile mind
Push us past reason to embrace
Glorious fanfares, triumphant throngs -
Images of futures spent.
In end-beats of a pregnant hour
He plucks one final hand-writ page,
Hymns soul's desire to wilted worlds -
All thought abandoned to applause.

On the night your son is born
You croon maternal Matthew music,
Anthem a future neverfading.


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[NOTE: Tower Poetry 50#2 is out of print]