The joyless voice speaks:
“No singing”

Spying a moment of frolic’d soul,
It declares again:
“No music”

There have been others,
Squelchers who relish
In the dead ash of
Once a whirling dervish.

To the fiery fey,
Poison.

10/22/2011

Author's Note: In her sister's home she dwelt, with the false bravado of a brother-in-law who did not adore his wife's soulful vibrato. Her age dwarfed his otherwise generous stature. Her well worn heart turned, ever so.

Posted on 10/22/2011
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