Balladeer (Poetry)

He sang to the hills
he sang to far mountains
he crooned to wide seas
serenaded sweet fountains

One verse to the moon
a hymn to the valley
a lost city chant
echoed alley to alley

Blue mountains too lofty
green oceans too deep
pale moon unresponsive
dark city asleep

So he sang to tall trees
traded tunes with wild flowers
and such choruses rang
through the meadowsweet hours

Broad oak creaked along
sad willow she shivered
small fish listened still
in the brown narrow river

He borrowed the trill
from the lark high ascending
its passion sublime
that ache neverending

Until all the old gods
on their thrones of belief
bent an ear to that voice
raw with love’s subtle grief

And they smiled at the sound
saved a place in the blue
as he sang from the heart
and his spirit bled through

He’s the voice of the world
every language and thought
expressing the pain
and the pleasures too short

To him the gods harken
his suit good and strong
for the singer’s immortal
his ballad lives on