Sing Me In Song

Sing me in spring like a sparrow’s song

or the tongue of a gypsy river,
like peepers beneath a jade sarong
or skirts of wind in full-blown quiver.

Sing me in summer with morning rain
on tin rooftops shaking with thunder,
in water-spun sails that winds unchain
over magical realms thereunder.

Sing me in autumn with cashmere sleeves,
in flames of a crackling fire,
in patchwork puddles of fallen leaves

or a church bell in lofty spire.

Sing me in winter, snow-soft serene,
in baskets brimming with fluffs of white,
in wordless bouquets of evergreen
beneath the moon on a starry night.

Sing me in song from a poet’s pen
onto the vellum of sacred scrolls
that I might sing forever again
between the lips of a thousand souls.

Author's Note

Reviews

[Patricia Wedel]

dear Linda Marie... your poem is mystical
and lyrical like a Gypsy twirling in a breeze.
I have written your poem in my Journal.
Having Gypsy in my blood, since my father's family is from Hungary,
I was drawn to your words like a fire on a Winter's night.
"on tin rooftops shaking with thunder... over magical realms
thereunder." The parchment with a song is my treasure...
Spring, Summer, Autumn and Winter. I quiver... truly, Pat

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

O! I just love your review, and I'm so glad the poem has personal meaning to you. Wow! To be written in your journal … that's lovely. Thank you for making my day. :-)

[Patricia Wedel]

You are welcome, Linda Marie... A Hungarian Restaurant usually has a Mystical musician playing the violin at your table... so romantic and charming. truly, Pat

[lightsong]

Dear Linda 🤍

When the soul opens, when the soul sings, when the soul writes... it is far different that when the heart or the senses do. You've opened and expanded your heart until it touched the heavens and therefor... your soul was joyous wandering in all the places, through and between earth and sky.... for me, as my breath, my heart and spirit are taken... as tender tears are spilling inside my soul, for me no words can express the beauty of this, the genuine glory, the generous gorgeousness, the sublimity. your voice shimmers like a thousand stars between the lips of a thousand souls, your beauty shines like a thousand stars between a thousand souls. How I wish that I've penned this... Thank You for being that beautiful in and out.

[Lisasview]

Love this whole concept of Sing me a Song... Oh so clever and reads like a beautiful song.
First words of yours I have read and I did so enjoy the ride..
I plan to read more..
Thank you for sharing,
Lisa

[Chris]

This echoes so softly behind the eyes...

[John the Baptist]

This offering contains splendid rhymes and some of the most exquisite imagery I have seen on this site. Each of the first four stanzas is devoted to a season and the imagery in each paints a beautiful word picture of that season. The last stanza is a departure from the first four, a spiritual quatrain that would fit nicely in a hymnal. This work is something to be read to elevate the spirit during difficult times. Well done.

[Chris Shaw]

Sing you in song throughout the four seasons. Your imagery and poetic expression are exquisite. I love the flow and rhyme here. A lovely poem. Well done Linda Marie. Your posted image a delight.

Chris

[barleygirl]

I love this poem with all my heart & I hardly ever feel that sensation when reading poetry. I'm more of a cerebral reader. I love your concept, as reflected in your title & carried well thru the poem, suggesting a long ongoing song, showing the passing of seasons. The details you use to summon the seasons are fresh & pertinent . . . my only disappointment is "morning rain" (kinda ho-hum for summer). Strong rhyme & rhythm without that taking over the reader's attention one bit. It's all about the flowing loving heartfelt msg (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie

[CD Campbell]

I like how you made the natural progression through the seasons seem effortless. Maybe you tortured over every word? I dont know, you make it look easy. I like the odd meter again. Crafty.
I admired the romantics when I was younger, you know, Shelley ( my favourite), Byron, Keats, etc. It always struck me on the volume of verse that they had produced over the course of their lives. (Which in all cases above, their lives untimely snuffed.) Its pretty staggering to think about.
But what some people seem to miss is why the elder statesman of our so called calling, label it the "craft". Well thought out rhyme and meter is not unlike a fine table or chair made by a master carpenter. Or the art by a master blacksmith. It takes sometime to get it. It takes a lot of work and practice. I dont want that to be discounted when someone happens to read your poem above.
Anyway, glad you're back and in great form.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you. I labored over this one for two days. I am such a perfectionist, and the process of writing is always a labor of love for me. I love all of the poets that you mention; and when I write, I truly want my poems to rest among theirs one day. At least my intent and love and energy aim in that direction. It is a craft and a passion. It's as much a necessity as breathing.

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

The greatest song ever written is The Song Of Nature, a magnificent piece of writing highlighting why it is the greatest song.

[Eilis]

To be immortalized is a kind of sacred dream. To have someone think so highly of us. Perhaps that keeps us thinking highly of ourselves. The beauty others see in us can transfer to our minds and make us shine brighter. That’s what your poem is saying to me just now.

You have a lush poetic voice, Linda. A lovely precision and gauziness to your words. I love that you write in form but there is a naturalness that pervades and makes the ideas not the form take center stage.

Lovely work, here. Beautiful pic, too.

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Thank you … "gauziness to your words" is nice, makes me think of sheer curtains billowing in a breeze.