On Hearing of an Artist at the Celtic Festival of Acadia
The artist cut one Maple Tree
And made of it nine instruments
He will bring them once
Together again
For a single night to play.
And who would not wait with sacred longing
For the playing of the nine
From the broken tree?
Who would not hope from such a moment
A taste of the soul’s wild ecstasy?
The Maple Tree sings in many voices
A song cut from a single heart
And peace
And balance
And practicality
All are surpassed in this final
Art.
Sweetness of utter intoxication.
Given
And open, surrendered and free.
The Maple divided is now resurrected.
The song of the nine
Is the Song of the Three.
Sarah de Nordwall September 6th 2012
YES!
This just breathes heaven – I'm sitting here all misty-eyed, dammit!
Sarah, this poem harmonises so perfectly with my sensibilities, it's almost like I wrote it!
Thank you, sister of my heart!
James