Unstarted Symphony
I could have been born in the Twenties – back when Jazz was king,
Or born to Gregorian Plainsong, or Cajun Soul, or Swing
I could have grown up years ago, when fugue was in command,
Or maybe raised in a lonely sect where music had been banned.
I might have lived through any time but this,
And bathed in the music of my then –
And I never would have known of all melodies I miss
When for ev’ry song I know, I must be losing ten.
If music were not meant for me, I’d barely care at all –
In any other century, I’d never hear the sirens’ call.
Singing:
“Music is the muse of here and now,
Not yet to come –
Who knows what the future holds at number one.”
I could have spent a past life thinking ev’ry note was wrong –
It wasn’t music’s fault, of course, if I did not belong.
I’m sure I was quite happy, though my passion was quite tame,
While my subconscious waited for the song which never came.
I might have lived through any time but this,
Perhaps been born too early, and marooned –
To those who say that music is a frill you wouldn’t miss
I think you lack the tunes to which you’re tuned.
Our music makes no dent, you see: you cannot sing along –
But come back in a century, and maybe then they’ll play your song.
They’re singing:
“Music is the soundtracks of our minds,
Both mine and yours –
Who knows what the future hold within her scores.”
Rhyming Couplets 