The Mark of the Bard
The old one lay in stillness, hands crossed upon his
breast
The young ones came to see him, peaceful in his rest
No more the music came from him, no more the laughing
gale
No more the fire of passion in a quiet winter's tale.
Then a young one rose from his place and he began to
sing
His hands were quick and agile, making the harp strings
ring.
The music then poured out of him, remembering the
old bard's life
He sang of honor and of faith, he sang of truth and
light.
Then the pipes wailed out, their lament filling the
hall
The music of sorrow crying, filling the hearts of
all
One by one they came to him, the last sight of him
in this world
Each hand that touched, each tear that dropped, a
memory of a heart stilled.
But know ye all this truth, forever the bard's music
lives on
It beats in the hearts of those hearing it and they
pass it in their own song.
So mourn not the death of the passing Bard, nor give
up his ghost to the end
But bend your ear to the music and hear his heart
on the wind.
Copyright 1999 Caitlin Mansell
