The
Harpist
A volunteer brought her harp
to the hospice house,
choosing a seat near the room
where I was keeping
solemn watch. As she
plucked the strings,
my heart’s tears flowed down
my face.
Peace pervaded my soul. When
she left, she said,
I’ll see you next week. If
not, I’ll know
he’s in a better place. I never saw her again,
but I carry with me her
blessed music and good heart.
I will ever be grateful for
her ineffable gift.
Elizabeth Howard lives in
Arlington, Tennessee. Her work has appeared in Comstock Review, Big
Muddy, Appalachian Heritage, Cold Mountain Review, Green
Hills Literary Lantern, and many other journals.
Thank you, Elizabeth for your moving poem. It's true music gives consolation in times of sorrow. An unexpected gift as you decribed it in your hearwarming poem.
ReplyDeleteBest wishes,
Inge
How beautiful and touching, Elizabeth! The memory of that harp music will stay with you for ever more! Regards // paul
ReplyDeletewhat a beautiful & moving write
ReplyDelete