THINGS OF BEAUTY

Deep in the wood there sat a cock
    upon it’s favorite rock.
It flapped and crowed melodically
    beyond the empty sea.
That none might hear it’s secret song
    and perhaps call it wrong
So sang the little cockerel bird
    with solitude endured.

Oh, what a pretty song it sang
    as on the breeze it rang
But no one ever heard it’s song
    as it piped along.
Then one day a minstrel came
    to avoid a rain
And heard the bird’s most lovely tune
    and stayed ‘til shown the moon.

And when the bird stopped playing there
    the minstrel asked with care,
“Please play another tune for me,
    and stay that I may see.”
The bird thought that with one to hear
    it need not have a fear
And played again before the man
    a lullaby most grand.

The minstrel took the bird with him
    and entered there within,
The court of the great Emperor
    and bird then to endure
For this was such a wondress prize
    to set before their eyes,
The little bird, in little cage,
    that would be all the rage.

But the bird sang no merry note
    through it’s lovely throat
And only looked downtrodden at
    the Emperor’s plumed hat.
The minstrel ranted and raved then
    but, alas in the end
The Emperor sent for his wise
    man of truth and lies.

What is the problem little bird,
    have you not truly heard,
The Emperor demands a tune
    and wants it very soon.”
The little bird said not to him
    and found no song within
But sat without remark or move
    with nothing there to prove.

The minstrel in a rage of sort
    removed the bird from court
And took it back to the same wood
    as he thought he should.
Then asked the bird, “Why my friend
    would you not attend
The Emperor, if pleased he be,
    would have rewarded me.

The bird with quizzing eye looked up
    in manor abrupt
And quoth the bird just there and then
    “I’ve nothing to defend.
I sang not for a prize of wealth
    or even for my health,
I sang to please my own true heart
    even from the start.

I sang not for worldly things
    or precious shiny rings,
I sang not just to satisfy
    ignoble hearts that cry.
Please tell me not of offers now
    or songs that earn a bow
For my song is it’s own reward
    song freely of accord.

Leave me here and bring to cheer
    those whom you wish to hear
The song I sing so sweet and clear
    where I shall feel no fear.
One cannot command such a gift
    that makes the spirit lift
For God has given of his own
    which, ever is a loan.”

The minstrel shed a tear and bowed
    and cast a secret vow,
“I love you now little bird
    sense wisdom I have heard
And when I return, I’ll be your guest
    and enjoy all your best.

Now I know such things of beauty
    are free upon the air
Where they may please everyone
    for all deserve to share.

Robert E. Browne