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Open Poetry #13
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penny-whistle
| Open Poetry #13 |
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penny-whistle |
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Packratmike Senior Member
since 2001-02-25
Posts 632California, USA 
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A simple penny-whistle, the old man's dearest friend, spent years in his coat pocket, next to his heart 'til when... A song would call from nature or the eye of a fine young girl, and his simple penny-whistle would give a song a twirl. It laughed for children playing with a catchy, joyful jig. It cried its mournful melodies for those whose graves he'd dig. It plucked the ladies heartstrings, so soft they'd give a smile, and soothed Ol' Shep to sleep each night upon an old rag pile. Fifty years it had been with him, a small gift from his son, as off to war a son must go until the war is won. "Please Father, play it for me. I'll hear it wherever I go. And if I'm lost, I'll listen for that tune that'll bring me home." So the lad went off to war to fight for a noble cause, while father played a dandy march to the drum of the crowd's applause. As cheers and hoots and give 'em hells soon faded in the wind, the songs from that tin whistle went home to play again. Again, again the old man played each day his son was gone. With letters few and far between much sadder grew the songs. Then one day in the paper a headline filled with joy. The war was finally over, home soon would be our boys. Hope never did escape him as the years would pass away, 'cause still he heard those final words his son said on that day. "Please Father, play it for me. I'll hear it wherever I go. And if I'm lost, I'll listen for that tune that'll bring me home." Desperately the old man played so weakened by the years. The feeble notes and fingers played on throughout the tears. Then one night in the darkness, he played his final tune, near Ol' Shep's empty bed of rags, outside a ghostly moon. He thought he heard the footsteps come somewhere from the left. Hands rested on his shoulders as he took his final breath. Though darkness hid the shadows he saw a familiar face, and heard a voice from long ago recite that trusting phrase. "Please Father, play it for me. I'll hear it wherever I go. And if I'm lost, I'll listen for that tune that'll bring me home." They buried him on a Monday and often it is said, that simple penny-whistle played... for the living and the dead. [This message has been edited by Packratmike (edited 04-16-2001).] |
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| © Copyright 2001 Mike Powers - All Rights Reserved | |||
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Krawdad Member Elite
since 2001-01-03
Posts 2597 |
Great little story, Mike, and it "jigs" right along, it does! Enjoyed he read. Krawdad |
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helen smith Member
since 2001-03-12
Posts 240 |
enjoyed it very much...soon we will have Anzac Day in Australia..I would love to read it to my students on that memorial day.. thank you so much |
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Packratmike Senior Member
since 2001-02-25
Posts 632California, USA |
Krawdad...Thank you, glad you liked it. Helen...If you feel it would be a fitting poem for the occasion, I would be more than proud and honored to have it read to your students on Anzac Day. Thank you. Mike |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Wonderful!! Made me cry though - which isn't a bad thing!  |
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Packratmike Senior Member
since 2001-02-25
Posts 632California, USA |
PdV...thank you. I'm glad I was able to stir an emotion. *S* Mike |
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