The Boy and the Song
                                                                           By Ann James

The death-note blasted the valley's green air:
It struck fear into the hearts of men.
Women turned cold and the old -
Held their short breath for fear inside them.
Those in repose awoke, shaking off the nightmare
That they supposed– heard only in sleep,
Then breathed deep: while some could only stand and stare.
'Can it be death- on such a sweet day?
The sky so cloudless – the summer here to stay?'

The boy, like a mountain goat, sped along the path 
That wound around to the top of the mound,
Far from the crowd, the valley's black pit
   and the sound of it.
And though the warning blast echoed past 
The sloping hill, resounding still, the chill
Stark, fathomless fears, 
It fell deaf upon the young boys ears.

His feet had wings, his heart – a song;
A song that sung loud as he moved along.

He was no one special – yet
He was all that was special,
He was a child that praised God,
And his love for Him was firm and strong.

He was glad this day to be out and free
To roam the hills and climb the trees;
To feel his feet tingle in the silver stream,
To lie on his back in the sun and dream.
 
Then the song of praise in his happy heart
Would rise to crescendo, as God's love imparts
The truths and secrets of creation's miracle:
His aim this day was to reach the pinnacle 
Of his favourite hill – to gaze upon earth and sky,
And simply watch the world go by.

He stood there now, as a lord would stand
Gazing upon his prosperous land.
Then, turning his back on the sky and town,
He flung himself hard on the soft, green ground.
Embracing the earth, he lay quite still
And was so at peace on the friendly hill -
He slept: even the song inside him kept
To a murmuring sound.

Gently his being breathed in the smell 
Of the earth and the green grass
On that warm swelling mound.
Then a soft summer wind whispered and fell
On the boy lying there in the peaceful still air
It spoke, and gently stroked its playful fingers through his hair,
And with its word – barely heard,
Broke the spell.

Child!
If I were but the hand of Time,
Would I reach out and hold you?
You tasted life's sweet wine
Before the wind ruffled your hair and told you
To waken and dream no more.
But if I did  - what then?
What would life hold for you in its bountiful store?
What of the song inside – must it not grow and know life
Even better than before?

If you were left alone to dream 
You would not know that love
Walks hand in glove – with pain;
For every loss there may be gain
For every tear, one day a smile,
And though the song may stop awhile,
It will begin again and grow,
Then ripen to maturity, rising to a symphony
Of perfect praise and harmony – so 
The child becomes a man who knows his God,
And loves Him more.

"Time to go now," the wind whispered.

The boy stood and looked once more
To the up and down houses on the valley's floor,
Then sighing, he swiftly stepped
Straight and sure down the mountain-side.
Ignoring the winding path, he kept
To a lightening speed, on the wings of the wind
He seemed to ride, laughing at the sheep
As they ran behind the rugged rocks to quiver and hide.

Once on the road his thoughts flew home
To his sister and mam making tea.
His dad would be home from the pit by now,
His laughter and love flowing free!

Now his feet turns into the street
But his heart grows cold at the sight
Of women gathered at his door,
Sorrow on each face.
His heart begins to pound and race
His throat feels dry and tight.

Silently they step aside to let him pass and go inside
The room is still the same apart from the gloom -
The wall of grief quietly creeping
Forming around the sound of women weeping.
His steps faltered – he was afraid.
He needed his mother but she seems so far away.
He was aware of his sister holding him to her.
Without words he knew –  death had come to stay-
His dada, his laughing, loving dada, 
Would not be coming home today.

His mother spoke, breaking the barrier suddenly.
"Let the boy come" said she.
"Let him come to me".

The boy, so soon to be a man,
So soon to take his father's place
Looked into his mother's face
He saw the grief, he saw the pride,
And as she wound her arms around
He surrendered to the pain and cried.
The silent tears fell and dropped
As the singing and the song inside him 
  -  Stopped.