Sitting beneath a willow tree

Struggling with my weighty words

I perceived an old man, with cane in hand

Conversing with the little birds.

 

His madly tousled hair was long

Bent and gnarled his frame but spry

His mouth was quirked, in a peculiar smirk

A trickster's gleam within his eye.

 

He shambled to my shaded patch,

Rapped me thrice upon my head

With magi staff, the birds did laugh,

And then he spoke, wherein he said:

 

"Why sit you here so obdurate?

You have forgotten how to see!

Think of Merlyn's power and Hade's ire,

Of Aslan's once and perfect deed.

 

All inspiration to your kind,

You Lyricists with thoughts akin

Their stories re-told, the new and the old,

You build upon their origin.

 

It's all one tale in different forms,

Perspectives varied as the wind.

Don't struggle so hard, my diminutive bard

Where you leave off another'll begin.

 

You must only tell your part,

Just like my little birds that sing.

All merge together, triumph and failure

To form a perfect symphony."

 

I smiled at him and nodded once,

Warmed by understanding's light.

He turned away with the birds, to play.

I sat back down and began to write…

 

Brandon Capps

Sitting beneath a willow tree

Struggling with my weighty words

I perceived an old man, with cane in hand

Conversing with the little birds.

 

His madly tousled hair was long

Bent and gnarled his frame but spry

His mouth was quirked, in a peculiar smirk

A trickster's gleam within his eye.

 

He shambled to my shaded patch,

Rapped me thrice upon my head

With magi staff, the birds did laugh,

And then he spoke, wherein he said:

 

"Why sit you here so obdurate?

You have forgotten how to see!

Think of Merlyn's power and Hade's ire,

Of Aslan's once and perfect deed.

 

All inspiration to your kind,

You Lyricists with thoughts akin

Their stories re-told, the new and the old,

You build upon their origin.

 

It's all one tale in different forms,

Perspectives varied as the wind.

Don't struggle so hard, my diminutive bard

Where you leave off another'll begin.

 

You must only tell your part,

Just like my little birds that sing.

All merge together, triumph and failure

To form a perfect symphony."

 

I smiled at him and nodded once,

Warmed by understanding's light.

He turned away with the birds, to play.

I sat back down and began to write…

 

Brandon Capps