Whew! Well, that gets all the business out of the way! Now for something slightly illegal. None of you sent me requests to become guest poets this time and Ilana didn't post anything (miss you!) and I promised someone else's poem this time so I can't write one of m own for you. So I guess I'll just have to "steal" one of my favorites for you this time. It's freely avalible on Google but I think the poet is still breathing Regardless, it can't have been more than 90 years since they stoped which means they and their heirs still own the copyright. I'm not paying any royalties to repost nor do I have any clue if they have ever writen anything else. Let alone enough to make a book out of! There,. that should be enough of a disclaimer to satisfy my Legal team. So enough with the formalities ! here's the freaken poem already! :
The Touch of the Master's Hand'Twas battered and scarred,
And the auctioneer thought it
hardly worth his while
To waste his time on the old violin,
but he held it up with a smile.
"What am I bid, good people", he cried,
"Who starts the bidding for me?"
"One dollar, one dollar, Do I hear two?"
"Two dollars, who makes it three?"
"Three dollars once, three dollars twice, going for three,"
From the room far back a gray bearded man
Came forward and picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust from the old violin
And tightening up the strings,
He played a melody, pure and sweet
As sweet as the angel sings.
The music ceased and the auctioneer
With a voice that was quiet and low,
Said "What now am I bid for this old violin?"
As he held it aloft with its' bow.
"One thousand, one thousand, Do I hear two?"
"Two thousand, Who makes it three?"
"Three thousand once, three thousand twice,
Going and gone", said he.
The audience cheered,
But some of them cried,
"We just don't understand."
"What changed its' worth?"
Swift came the reply.
"The Touch of the Masters Hand."
And many a man with life out of tune
All battered with bourbon and gin
Is auctioned cheap to a thoughtless crowd
Much like that old violin
A mess of pottage, a glass of wine,
A game and he travels on.
He is going once, he is going twice,
He is going and almost gone.
But the Master comes,
And the foolish crowd never can quite understand,
The worth of a soul and the change that is wrought
By the Touch of the Masters' Hand.
Written by poet: Myra Brooks Welch
Neat huh? Can you guess what makes this poem out of the hundreds of others I've read and heard as a poet/poetry promoter over the last 15 years stand out as one of my favorites? Do you like it too?
this version is credited on Google as being owned by The global Methodist church and was published by their General board of Global Minestries. feel free to report it as stolen if you're so inclined. I'll freely admit to theft of intelectual property on this one. Still , they did publish it on google so it may have become public domain. That is , if they had permission from Myra or her heirs to publish it on Google. I don't think they want to go down that road so I feel pretty safe in sharing this with you! See you next time!