What He Taught Me Then Is What Remains Still

He couldn’t tell me his name.

He could barely speak at all.

But he sang at me.

Man could he sing.

A natural baritone who could,

For a few moments at least,

Cast out the wheezing,

The seizures,

The fits of choking.

And the damnable winter cold.

A voice, no doubt, that

Once delivered a child to rest

And then ever so gently

Invaded his dreams.

Or perhaps, back in the day,

Charmed a young woman or two

(Or maybe it was more?)

Into falling in love.

I didn’t know the words he sang.

And can’t remember them now.

But none of that matters.

For what he taught me then

Is what remains still:

Love is sometimes costly.

Freedom is mostly illusion.

And no one ever leaves here

Unscathed, or unchanged,

Or unknown

(Not even when

We die alone).

So keep on singing.

Seize some unexpected


Upon some unsuspecting


And then pass it on.



Image Credit: Pixabay

Copyright 2016

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