LyricSmiths

our featured Poem

William and Mary

For three weeks Mary lay,
white, still and undemanding.
Sad eyed medics came and went,
but spoke no words of hope.
Whilst sombre and mechanical,
William went about the croft.

Then, with day’s work done
he’d sit upon the little wooden chair
where, for forty-seven years, her nightgown
rested, day long, in careful folds.
Few words passed between them now.
She had not the strength and he had not the words.

As darkness rolled its long shadows
through that silent room she spoke.
“Tak doon dy fiddle boy and play a peerie tune.”
Slowly, William rose and from the topmost shelf
brought down the dusty, wooden case.
Trembling fingers forced the frozen clasps.

Hinges, long unasked, squeaked gentle protests.
First he raised the bow, twisting the little screw,
And from habit drew it along the piece of rosin there.
With care, he lifted up the long neglected instrument and paused.
In times past its burnished body had glistened joyfully
Reflecting lights of many an Island gathering.

Now only smooth, dull timber nestled in his palms.
Aged, gnarled fingers strained to tune reluctant strings.
His ears, not dulled by time, demanded only perfection.
For thirty long minutes he strove to find true notes
Then, satisfied at last, he glanced at Mary lying still,
scarce breathing, the flicker of a smile on her face.

From the recesses of his mind William bowed
a half forgotten air and frowned.
It was not as he had once so deftly played.
He persevered. His third attempt recreated the semblance of that
tune
and filled the tiny room and two hearts with an indescribable joy.
From that small triumph sweet melodies flooded back.

 

With each tune recalled,
memories of distant times
lit up two ancient faces.
A reel, once played beside a neighbour’s hearth,
made a young girl dance and smile
And steal the fiddler’s heart.

The tunes the boys so blithely played
That kept their wedding guests
in night long motion.
Then a song she sang to rock the cradle of their boy
Robbed from them by heartless, cruel sea.
That even now brought forth salt tears.

With tempo raised again William’s music
Spoke of concerts, dances, weddings
and of many a year’s end.
With aching arms he stopped and rested.
and looked again upon the face he’d watched grow old.
“Wan mair peerie tune my Love!”

Her voice so faint he scarce could hear.
He would deny her not and so
he raised his fiddle to his chin and recalled
that tender waltz she loved so well.
With all his strength and skill he played
until its final note faded softly to silence.

Mary sighed. The vale of peace
that surpasses all human understanding
shrouded her frail frame.
But the gentle smile of the girl
he had married
still remained.

A solitary tear rolled down the old man’s face.
Like the kiss of an angel, it landed soft upon the fiddle
And played its final note.
William sat for a silent age, then rose.
By the hearth he slowly knelt and laid the fiddle
There, amongst the glowing embers.

dougforrest
September 2002