A Gift?

Who gives the singer the gift of song?
The singer herself, by working long,
Long and longer, hour after hour,
Developing outward her inner flower.
The gift of singing is no such thing,
But a lift and plying of self-made wing
All ready to soar when ripe’s the time
To pour out notes of life, sublime.
Then someone hears, says, “Oh, what a gift”
Who never dared himself to lift.
Yet we who work and slave for song,
It’s we create our gift so strong;
A gift of self, rewarding hours
Spent cultivating our inner flowers.
So artists all, of every kind,
Work hard and long in body, mind,
And face Defeat, and take him on,
And turn and twist him into Dawn,
Creating something true, serene,
That is pure beauty, heard or seen.
A gift, if such a gift there is,
Is artist’s art that he’s made his.

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2 Responses to A Gift?

  1. “You’ve got a gift.” They know not what they say.
    It has always bugged me. Complimenting with disrespect…

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