I sing to the walls of Lancaster
to the place that I had in my youth
one hundred songs of fiction
and one hundred songs of truth
one hundred songs of yearning
and one hundred songs of hope
I sing when I have not the courage to speak
for my weakness can hide in the notes
I sing and the sound carries far
not on land but it travels through time
one hundred years ago silence was pierced
and the echo’s still strong in my mind
one hundred years from today
where I be no one can know
but as sure as the sound fades away
the echo will grow and will grow
I sing to these walls even stronger
for I’ve found an audience here
that never will get up and wander
and never will heckle or cheer
but silently waits for the next note to come
and I see as I look in their eyes
something that calls out and speaks to me:
“keep singing, it keeps me alive”
April 2005
J.G. Thwaits
