The Crippled Singer


She sang in the garden

An old island song,

Her sister and warden

Her chair pushed along.

Her voice was so sweet

And her joy so complete

You forgot that her feet

Were not very strong.


She sang with such rapture,

So merry was she,

She ever could capture

My heart willingly,

Though crippled in pain –

She would ne’er walk again –

She sang her refrain

As if she were free.


She sang in the morning,

She sang in the noon;

She sang when adorning

The sky hung the moon.

Her quavering voice

And the songs of her choice

Still make me rejoice

Though long silent her rune !


Mona’s Herald     2.7.63