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The Messiah's Dirge

haaa ha a ha a ha a haa
haaa ha a ha a ha a haa

... up and down the street at Ashmol,
just before the midnight toll,
her face pale, in her long flowing shroud,
this night in the sky is nay a cloud,
her deathly eyes cast up to heaven,
this year of our Lord, 1737.

haaa ha a ha a ha a haa
haaa ha a ha a ha a haa

... she hums to her master Luthier Stradiv,
a sad dirge of the messiah on Christmas eve,
in the moonlight with a graceful stride,
dances the widow who was Luthier's bride,
tears like a river flow down her cheek,
the dark of death lends an eerie streak.

haaa ha a ha a ha a haa
haaa ha a ha a ha a haa

... in sombre notes is the music into the night,
as the messiah strums the "Song of the light"
to those who see her, shrouded in grief,
and beg the heavens to grant her relief,
as she cries for the last time; again ne'er,
in Ashmol the messiah's prison lies forever.

haaa ha a ha a ha a haa
haaa ha a ha a ha a haa

.. goes the tune to the messiah's dirge.

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This poem is imaged from the vintage violin fashioned in 1730's by a 'luthier' named Antonio Stradivari. It was so magnificent it was named "The messiah" sometime in the 1820s. The messiah is now a museum piece at the Ashmoleum Museum ... and it's never to be played forever.

from the Trapped in Time series by M. Davies

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