Kitchen Lament

The dog sleeps on

Beside the stove,

The wind roars wildly down the flue,

As I pick up my violin

And try to keep the tuning true

Of notes I learned so long ago.

A sad lament for all sad times,

Which seems to have a Hebrew hue,

I can’t help overdoing it,

Sliding notes to make them blue

And adding hopelessness to show

I know the sad thoughts all men know.

But saddest thoughts are soon dispelled,

The welling tears are quickly quelled,

As I survey the kitchen sink

And all the housework left undone

And drift into a haze of guilt

As phrases slide past one by one,

Conveyed by absent mind to arm,

No longer stirring sorrow deep,

But urging me to let things be,

To go to bed and try and sleep,

And leave the boring chores alone. 

The hairy floor can always wait,

The scattered crumbs can’t come to harm,

There’s nothing that I can’t postpone,

The day’s been long, the hour’s late,

I don’t need music’s help to moan.