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A cheery child sits beneath the falling autumn leaves,
Rejoicing in the beauty of the nature she esteems,
Humming whilst she draws its beauty so that she may share,
And happy knowing, most of all, she has a family who cares.
The leaves and fields see her, they hum along, and soon,
The flowers start to sing another song so sweetly tuned,
Singing merrily along, that cheery, blithe refrain,
The melody of joyfulness, still one and the same.
But far away another child, not as fortunate as some,
Sits crying in a leaking basement, without hope of being loved.
He isn’t loud, for fear and shame, that a passerby should know,
The shameful tears that death has wrung from him while he’s alone.
The spiders and the insects are the only ones who hear,
But piteously sing a song while they lend a listening ear,
Singing softly, like a lullaby, that quiet, sad refrain,
The melody of sorrow, still one and the same.
Slightly older, but not enough, to bear this kind of pain,
Not far away a young woman’s tears mingle with the rain.
She was too young to give away her fair and spotless heart,
And expected it not to return to her so recklessly torn apart.
She is alone, crying in the rain, there’s no one there to see,
But still the very raindrops seem to sing so gently,
Singing with a voice so choked, that tearful refrain,
The melody of heartache, still one and the same.
In another place, some young man who claims it’s like a pin,
Tries to ignore the bloody wounds that throb and scream at him,
How he had gotten into this, he can’t seem to recall,
But now it’s grown so serious, he must die or give his all.
The faces around are merciless, they taunt him and they jeer,
But still something sings out a lament somewhere near,
Singing almost like a scream, that agonizing refrain,
The melody of pain, still one and the same.
You never know what happiness a single word can give,
A single act of kindness that can give the strength to live,
But this one soul’s discovered it, and though she hasn’t much,
She gives away all that she has, thinking of whom she’ll touch.
The children smile around her, and many others too,
And in the springtime blossoms gladly sing their kindly tune,
Singing quietly, that humble, heartfelt refrain,
The melody of kindness, still one and the same.
If e’er there was a person with a life so out of tune,
This man was the one, and it seemed to be his doom.
He tried, oh so very hard, to harmonize the parts,
But the whole thing always fell apart and cracked open his heart.
The children covered up their ears, but not the old and wise;
They pitied he who heard the spirits sing what he’d devised,
Singing with a fist clenched tight, that painful refrain,
The melody of dissonance, still one and the same.
And ever quite the opposite, though hard to understand,
This quiet life was lived cheerfully in comforts far from grand,
Indeed, it was blotched with sorrow, and heartache, and blame,
But still something about her never gave in to the pain.
The creatures of the woods, and the birds up in the air,
Sing and chirp, all just for her, their little song so fair,
Singing in tranquility, that serene refrain,
The melody of peace, still one and the same.
Just as life is always begun the same for everyone,
So must a lifetime always end with the same headstone.
It is fearsome, revered, and awed, this force which rules us all,
And though we’d like to think it not, one by one we fall.
The drifting, lifeless phantoms sing the dirge by night,
A requiem so piercing that it gives the boldest fright,
Singing like a mournful chant, that shadowed refrain,
The melody of death, still one and the same.
The songs sung by the flowers, the blossoms, and the birds,
All along with the raindrops’, spirits’, and phantoms’ dirge,
Combine, sometimes in dissonance, but always woven in a net,
In a symphony of time by instruments that with dew are wet.
Every emotion is wrapped in song, this ever-changing song,
That every creature on this earth is made to sing along,
Singing sorrow, joy, and all, that curious refrain,
The melody of life, which all the other songs contains.
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