Power and avarice filled my mind as I walked upon the lea,
Great achievements behind me lined, trophies filling me with glee.
No thought to those I cast aside, in life and underhand,
And all the deeds I had to hide, where’er I was to stand.
Just then I heard a haunting sound, the lonesome lilt of a flute,
Caressing me from all around, much softer than the lute.
Trance like I stumbled to a wood, believing it there to be,
To meet the player filled my mood; need in me to see.
The trees about all seemed to sway, to that elusive rhapsody,
Day turned to dark then back to day as I drank the melody.
Pleading with the blue bells there, “Who is the maestro that I seek?”
In silence they all seemed to stare, dancing, colourful and meek.
Through summer’s sun and winter’s pall, time dwelt on me no more,
Pursuing the flautist’s beckoning call possessed my very core.
As flowing seasons turned to years, I embraced that magic sound,
Such enchantment to mine ears, the player still not found.
Then in the shade of a hazel tree, my being was laid low,
With that flute still haunting me, I cried the author himself to show.
“Reveal yourself! I must reach, to you and what you are,
Come forth to me, I beseech, here in my final hour”.
Then the hazel tree spoke down to me, “Everywhere that you have trod,
From pride the flute has set you free; it was the voice of God!”