The Hills are Alive

Music audible and imagined, clouds of many faces, ever changing, the dynamics of harmony.

Painting and Poem by Dr Abe V Rotor

 

                                                                     The Hills are Alive AVR 2011

I hear the breeze in the trees like melody of the pipe,

        and the cadence of the clarinet,

Downstream the rolling, rumbling of snare drums, 

        stones clicking like castanet.

Sweet violins I hear from cicadas on the treetops,

        while robins sing in their nest; 

Distant thunder rolls like muffled bass and gong,

        frogs boom with their breast.

I imagine the sound of the butterfly gathering nectar,

        each flower a melody;

I imagine the clouds making faces, ever changing,

        the dynamics of harmony.  

Music audible and imagined makes the hills alive,
       an orchestra in its prime;
Ephemeral each note like the wind passing by,  
       touching the spirit sublime. ~