Music In The Well 

The King swore his end
By kingly power sealed by his signet.
For the blind harpist
Played down the joyful cheers
Into sorrowful tears.

Lords sobbed like lads
While he sang without words.
The queen's soul ran out like a river
Gushing through her eyes.
Cats shivered.
Groanings reached to the darkening skies.

He sang of all that is of men.
He told of worlds and empires broken.
He told of the silence of the grave
Of both the cowards and the brave.

The poets that knew the voice
Bowed before him as to a disguised lord
For a wit unveiled on the tomb of words.
Nobles were drunk more from tears
Than red wine.
There were the Scots, Spaniards and Egyptians.
There were some from Ethiopia and those from the Rhine.



He bled on the harp.
With dirge; a sword mercilessly sharp.
"His music has offended the gods
He must be fed to the maggots!
Take him to the well of Zurich
Where the bones of the wizards of Andorra must teach..."

Unrepentant with adour for his king -
He begged not for his life or nothing.
His pleas went for his harp that wrought the divine spell.
To go down with him into the well.
For him, painless would be death's bitter stings.
For he had wings with music.
Cherubs taught him the mysteries of the strings.
Known by God a saint; by men a blind harpist.

He sang in the well
Till life faded like a misty tale.
His harp played on
Till dust became of the throne.