What wondrous voice is this I hear, That shares it's beauty with my ear? Sweet children's voices can't compare And even angels should beware. It is a harp in Ireland born Upon an ancient, foggy morn. Some Druid bard first gave it breath And it survived him at his death, To pass from hand to hand, until It reached the present, singing still!
A most wonderous first write, and directly in keeping with the month! Welcome to Passions! Look around, get acquainted, read, comment, and just have yourself a great time! Check your e-mail for a special message!
Karilea If I whisper, will you listen?... I would rather be silent and write, than speak loudly and be bound. KRJ
[This message has been edited by Sunshine (edited 03-10-2001).]
Rex Allen McCoy
Sippin a Timmy's in London
WElcome, Betty, to the passions family. I can hear the srings of the harp being plucked from across the sea.The harp and the guitar are my two favorite instruments. Thanks for sharing this lovely poem Liz
Greetings! I feel as if they have all beat me with what to say.... But this is what I think.. As you read your poem it is as if you can hear the music that has flowed for years. Also your words flow together beautifully!
A very neat poem! Well done!