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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463715" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Harpsong</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=463715" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Harpsong-<br>forbidden, <br>strummed in secret or plucked out<br>at the harper's peril, the strutting tunes, lyrical<br>lessons of musical hedge-schools; needed<br>treacle of weddings and funerals, '<br>thought Turlough O'Carolan, <br>gripping her mane<br>and bending his back to the back of the mare<br>bumpily trotting the bad roads<br>beside watery green<br>boglands and sea-lanes and fields of morraine<br>and peaks that, cloud dropping sheets on, <br>disappeared, to glimmer back into view; <br>Harpsong<br>plaintive water-patter<br>ceaseless as the dew-<br>lodged in the rains <br>and rising from rain-spatter; <br>To the west, the warmth of sunlight<br>lured to itself his crumbling vision: <br>light, viewed scratchily through blocks of blur-<br>minimal, miasmal; <br>light even a blindman could see: <br>sealight, genial and diffuse.<br>Harpsong<br>the poem-preceding tune come following after.<br>'Boy, ' he shouted, to the darkness ahead, 'BOY! '<br>they were late, but only a day or so-<br>late for the feast-but 'what so? '<br>folks would wait a week or more; <br>'Yes, sir? '<br>for they needed him, in his way, <br>as important as the bride. Needed him, <br>as people rarely need a blind man, to begin.<br>'So, ' he concluded, grinding his teeth, <br>snarkily, 'Let them wait, '<br>as the horse trotted on, repeating, repeated, <br>'Let them wait.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Morgan+Michaels">Morgan Michaels</a></strong></div>