I have lived in a world of my own.
I revel to the strains of Scheherazade,
and Tales of Hoffman: The Barcarolle,
remembering full well how they uplifted me
from the first time I heard them
so many years ago.
Over all those years so many others…
Stranger in Paradise / Espana / Ma Navu /
Beethoven’s Ninth / Oh My Papa / Jag Vantar /
The Pines of Rome / Appalachian Spring /
Shady Grove / Rhapsody in Blue / Bolero /
White Cliffs of Dover / Danube Waltz…
Jazz—blues—music of the folk,
Music of the Planets via Gustav Holst,
the music of Russia, and Bach, Brahms,
Chopin, Papa Verdi, Mantovani,
Shel Silverstein, Cat Stevens,
music with tympanies, cellos,
flutes, brass, woodwinds, fiddles…
I love them in their multitudinous
expressions and renditions,
from all parts of the Earth
and all ages from which they have survived
to enrich my life, my way of worship,
my passionate encompassing gratitude for
this, God’s gift to the spirit’s ear.
And I have loved them alone.
Come, Sylvia, and love them with me.