A Rancher's Echo

A cello can drive a man mad

A Rancher’s Echo

Robert Clarke

 

Such a sour note does that cello play that I may take it down,

Into the barren field whilst the Brahmin stay;

Burn it will to my fastidious standard

Smoke will rise amid the air.

 

Joyously, gaily, I will dance upon its embers,

All the while daughter will observe

From her room atop the tower,

Sniffling, tearing, at the ashes that once bestowed her beloved instrument.

 

That it did taunt me,

Its saddening echo engulfed thee,

Drove me into the spiraling fantasy;

With which I could not escape.

 

As play it did throughout the day,

Work and time betrayed me;

A screeching wail did arise and depart

An echo throughout this contraption.

 

Joyously, gaily, I will dance upon its embers,

In the barren field whilst the brahmin stay;

Say with a heavy heart I will to daughter's sweet, stained face,

She will hark my words at a time and spiral into depression.

 

Apologetically my physical expression will be so,

That daughter will forgive;

In time a gift shall be bestowed upon her,

A lovely flute from thee.

 

So daughter may play friendly echoes,

For my mind to stay calm

Stay clean and free;

Such a lovely note does that silver flute play that I may smile broadly.

 

Daughter will adore its beautiful music,

And I shall not hear the echo of the horrific cello;

For the beating of my heart for that flute will seize its sour note,

I shall keep hold of sanity,

For the horrid instrument is gone.