WHISPY WHITE CLOUDS AND MEANDERING MISTS (A SONNET)
The wispy white clouds on the wild white mountains
Hide faces of wandering, pondering poets.
Meandering mists in the marvelous valleys
Are revealing those lingering singers in boats.
Long, long ago before the division
Songsters and writers lived harmoniously.
The poets would write words of lyrical lightness,
And singers would song them melodiously.
Now there is muteness in the marvelous valleys,
The poets still ponder but have no one to sing.
And the singers stare up at those wild white mountains,
With tunes in their hearts but no words to make ring.
When pride has asunder torn can any join together?
Or will the singers stay in boats and poets in the heather?