The right hand hovers once above the board
And sends an angry fist into the white
Where notes are dropped and scattered from the chord
Like shadows in the pale cold blue of night.

The fist unwraps, its fury now a smolder
And tucked inside, a hand with lines so deep
They trace the path of one man growing older,
Of one man fighting with eternal sleep.

The crooked fingers worn away by years
Hover slightly just above the keys
And break the blurry fall of one man's tears.
And pressing in they find what no man sees.

Within the minor melancholy of the notes,
An echo when the hands succomb to age,
That like a haunting specter sadly floats,
Like distant words of one forgotten sage.

The bow lightly touched the strings,
As the music filled the air,
And the fiddler closed his eyes,
So the melody was clear,

The dancers moved with ease,
Across the smooth plank floor,
While the fiddler played his tune,
The sound went out the door.

The music rose to heaven,
Where God, His ear attuned,
Smiled His affirmation,
For the beauty brought to bloom.

The fiddler finished playing,
Put down his bow and 'lin,
Closed his eyes to rest a while,
For the music had to end.

 -- Submitted by Norman Edward Rourke from Beggs, OK

I used to think I'd never turn to country.
(I liked a few like Johnny's "A Boy Named Sue.")
Miller, Willie, Campbell, Cline, Lynn, Nany:
They'd "Walk the Line" or "Walk All Over You."

The 70's arrived, and it was common
For country to cross over the radio dial:
Newton John's or Denver's with lyrics homespun;
Parton's, Mandrell's, Rondstadt's and Gayle's had style.

"Elvira," "Lucille," "Margaritaville," and "Men,"
And "I'm A Survivor" were hits on which later I'd stumble;
Reeve's bittersweet "Wish I Could Hurt That Way Again,"
And funny Mac Davis finding it "Hard To Be Humble."

Now I'm "Riding With Private Malone." "Have Mercy."
Those pesky country twangs might still reverse me!

-- Submitted by Andrea Dietrich from Pleasant Grove, Utah

I love to sing Your praises,
And make a joyful noise.
I love to raise my voice in song
It is among my greatest joys.

I offer You my songs, Lord.
I hope Your ears they please.
I know I'm no great singer,
But singing puts my soul at ease.

I offer songs of sorrow,
And joyous ones also.
I offer songs that praise Your name,
On pitches, high and low.

Humbly I stand before You,
Singing from my heart.
I feel nearer my God to Thee,
And I hope we'll never part.

I sing my songs of worship,
And celebration too,
Thanksgivings and devotions,
I render all to You.

I sing Hallelujah,
Hosanna on high.
And I hope to keep on singing,
Until the day I die.

-- Submitted by Margaret R. Morgan-Monges from Baltimore, MD

The music is too faint to hear
With normal type of hearing
But I fancy sounds that reach my ear
In the little clearing.

I imagine I hear melodies
In a quiet glade:
Crickets play the violins,
A giant spider plucks the strings
Of its webby harp.

A hummingbird provides the pitch,
As gentle breezes blow,
Morning-glory clarions
Are played by busy bees;
A praying mantis waves his own
Director's wand with ease.

Such is the music that I hear,
When walking in a wood.
It's only for the inner ear
But clearly understood.

-- Submitted by Carol Merolla from Johnston, RI

Music permeates the room
nostalgia floods my mind with
memories of a distant past.
When did I hear that music and where?
What lifetime was I in?

Was I a man, lovingly serenading
my bride as a Venetian gondolier?
Or, was I the bride, being comforted
by that lovely song?

The music changes, martial music,
military boots, what war? and where?
Was I a private in that war?
Chapel bells accounce the time for evening vespers.
I race across the courtyard to get there on time.

Life changes through the ages,
but the music remains the same.
I cry for what was past and yet the same.

-- Submitted by Dorothy C. Fox from Elyria, OH

When I hear the sound of the fife and drum,
I want to sing out with a voice fulsome
The sound of the music makes me gay
It uplifts me from day to day.

To dance in vibrant bright colored clothes
To share the song with some of those
Who sing and dance within God's sight
On sunny days or starlit night.

To twist, to twirl, to whirl around
To jump for joy, feet off the ground
To flee from all of life's restraints
The music varied as a palette of paints.

To dance on, not touching a shimmering stream
To be alive and to reach a dream.

-- Submitted by Geraldine Shadian from Kihei, Hawaii

It's like a tune you have mastered,
all the notes memorized.
An A, a C, a G, a D,
Then F sharp in surprise!

Yet there is something assuring
in its constancy, my dear,
for as long as I feel these vibrations
I know that you are near.

I dread the night that will come
when silence lasts too long,
and I'll awake with a start
to find that you are gone.

Do snorers snore songs in heaven,
keeping time to an angels' harp?
If so, please send me a tape,
but darling, please keep it short!

-- Submitted by Brenda Bruner from Webb City, MO