Tin Whistle – a poem

A toy tin whistle there,
Useless, lies untouched,
Six holes in a metal tube,
Until, a magician came.
Strong arms, bearded face,
Dancing eyes, bewitching hands,
Jumping to those hands the whistle lives,
Singing, moaning, making music,
Grabbing beauty from the air.

Awakened, the house responds,
Commanding notes seeking everywhere.
We approach, as to the Pied Piper,
Mesmerized by the mournful sound,
Sitting spellbound as the whistle sings.
A group of people, suddenly as one,
Held by elfin whistle in musician’s hand,
To listen, and to hear that pipe,
Speak as two remaining one.

Then, putting down the pipe, he goes,
Leaving a hint of mystic in his wake,
A discarded pipe, trying hard to sing,
Weakly reforming notes into a theme,
But, bereft of power reverting to silence,
Music lingering on bewitches the building,
Scrapes captured notes from our minds,
To burst in the hall, vaporize and die
Leaving us a toy tin whistle and a memory.

16 thoughts on “Tin Whistle – a poem

  1. The vivid descriptions and cadent effect coming from your words have made this poem a joy to read over and over again. Here is my fav:

    “Mesmerized by the mournful sound,
    Sitting spellbound as the whistle sings.” __I felt like I was there while the music was going on.

    I’m happy you stopped by my corner of the globe. Will be following yours from now on.

    • Thank you, and thank you for picking your favorite lines. That whistle did have a mournful, mesmerizing sound. I’ll be back to your corner.

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