(written in homage to the hymn which has various attributions)
My life flows on in endless song,
but now I shift the measure —
sung by myself, performance gone,
each word and note I treasure.
We sing our grace at table now
and hymn alone when praying.
Flat note, missed line, I do not mind
my memory’s betraying.
Tree leaf percussion plays above
this cricket frog symphonic,
and birds still sing their springtime love
against night trains harmonic.
I hear soprano in the rain,
the timpany’s rough weather,
and bright’s the anthem in the dawn
by morning stars together.
I learn to love the instruments
that hold our music safely —
the harp, piano, clarinet,
and friendly ukelele.
The castanets and tambourine
make joyful noise and rhythm
and in my hands — doxology
Signs ASL precision.
I thought the virus killed our song,
prepared a lamentation
but both the YouTube and the whale
blend chords to our salvation.
There is a concert of the heart
that rises up before us
and when we listen from our love,
the angels join the chorus.