His name was Timothy, the young...
each morning his fresh song was sung
by all the choir with faces, clean,
to Timothy, all long and lean.
The notes he wrote sailed far and wide,
aye, out the window on the side
of Clayburne Hall, then o'er the field,
as time and life on Earth did yield.
Timothy, who taught us well;
we sang out hearts out 'till the bell
and then we moved on through our day,
at least we tried to, anyway.
I went through years with heart on fire
for I was smitten in the choir
and I am glad for all my life,
for I became my dear Tim's wife.
Author notes
A coincidence that the name Timothy is so beloved.
Smile... all the while...
Comments
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A coincdence, eh?
If I didn't know better... naw...but... ARE you my Ex???
(ha ha). I can hear a Gaelic lilt to it. Thanks.
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this is a smiling poem - it made me think of my school days, though i was never in any choir, i do not have a singing voice, i tried to do some poems of mine some years ago into song and all my friends said i sounded like lemmy from motorhead.
i thought that was a good thing but they meant it as a bad thing so i thought - oh well. we can not win them all.
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