A Little Song

The soul, it needs to sing--it needs to sing
In mountain meadows, needs to sing on hills
And on the stormy seas--it has to sing
To find itself, luxuriate in thrills.

It cannot sing while stuck in traffic--curses
Are opposite of song--and bare routine
Is searing static--raze these daily curses
That starve the soul until it's weak and lean.

Turn off the T.V., internet, and song,
The background chatter widening the hole
Within the soul that's only filled with song
And music emanating from its coal.

The soul, it needs to sing so it can bring
Itself to wisdom in its dancing ring.