Found a poem
I found this while looking up an article for my lesson this week. When I see 'Poetry' in the table of contents I always stop and take a peek. I still remember a line that pierced me from a poem in I-don't-know-which-Ensign many years ago, and someday I might find it again. This one appealed to me, and since I just published a column which likened music to learning how to listen to the Lord, I thought it was fitting. Since my daughter Emily played the trumpet, and was honored to play "Taps" at the graveside of a woman who meant a great deal to our family, this had echoes in my memory.
On the first warm morning
he played
his cornet
for the valley to hear,
and people pausing in their milking or
the feeding of children
knew summer
had come.
the children
following his plan
erected a stone carrying his name
under a line
of music
from a cornet cadenza;
and in the cemetery, as the sun
comes up
when the hay
is thick,
a good rain has fallen,
or yellow roses
are shining on the fences,
people say
sometimes
you can hear the old man
playing it.
Encore
By Shirley Howard
Shirley Howard, “Encore,” Ensign, Apr. 1978, p.19
On the first warm morning
he played
his cornet
for the valley to hear,
and people pausing in their milking or
the feeding of children
knew summer
had come.
He played
on special days
when hay was thick in the fields,
a good rain
had fallen,
and sometimes for no reason at all
except that yellow roses
were so heavy with blossoms,
the fences sagged.
on special days
when hay was thick in the fields,
a good rain
had fallen,
and sometimes for no reason at all
except that yellow roses
were so heavy with blossoms,
the fences sagged.
A shoemaker,
looking the same in a leather apron
or a brown suit,
he grew old playing for weddings,
funerals,
and those occasions when
an old soldier faded away
or a young one
came home,
cold and rigid under a flag,
sounding taps so tenderly
mourners
stopped their sorrowing
to listen.
When death came, looking the same in a leather apron
or a brown suit,
he grew old playing for weddings,
funerals,
and those occasions when
an old soldier faded away
or a young one
came home,
cold and rigid under a flag,
sounding taps so tenderly
mourners
stopped their sorrowing
to listen.
the children
following his plan
erected a stone carrying his name
under a line
of music
from a cornet cadenza;
and in the cemetery, as the sun
comes up
when the hay
is thick,
a good rain has fallen,
or yellow roses
are shining on the fences,
people say
sometimes
you can hear the old man
playing it.
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