As I came to the edge of the woods,
Thrush music—hark!
Now if it was dusk outside,
Inside it was dark.

Too dark in the woods for a bird
By sleight of wing
To better its perch for the night,
Though it still could sing.

The last of the light of the sun
That had died in the west
Still lived for one song more
In a thrush’s breast.

Far in the pillared dark
Thrush music went—
Almost like a call to come in
To the dark and lament.

But no, I was out for stars;
I would not come in.
I meant not even if asked;
And I hadn’t been.

I knew the kind of person
I wanted to marry when
I watched my grandfather
buy my grandma flowers.
Even long after her last breath.

( C . C )

I turn on the music
Light up
Lean back and close my eyes
And I leave here

I swim and surf through the sea of sound
That is my life
My life inside my life
The constant friend and lover

From the rhythm and energy
That makes my old bones move in time
To the exquisite pain that can make me weep
There is music for all moods and occasions

Old loves are remembered through songs
There is music we find
That even helps us through grief
And, of course
Music is at every celebration
But most of all
It feeds my soul

                                     By Phil Roberts