Strings pluck, horns blow, drums beat - Fugal Celebration

Strings pluck, horns blow, drums beat

Full-lunged songs sing enemies defeat.

Sheep set loose, blacksmith's bench returned to use

and milkmaid's buckets spilled with glory tales.

Planted seeds found time to thrive

and farmers rose to reap their ripened wheat.

The warrior, at peace with peace

like thief, resolved to turn a leaf.

And lovers made lovers' plans.

Pebble games, daisy chains

and sub chin butter tests.

Kids peel sticks of birch to feel

slick moistured fingertips.

Blue sky laced with tight white webs;

fields of high rye tickled skylarks,

levitating stars.

On contented drone of bee

musicians improvise a melody

fuelled by feast fermented fruit.

Sun-cooked air blew through flutes

and round bright maypole strings

a jig in plaited time thrilled quickened hearts.

Birds and butterflies flit

from wayside bush and ditch.

The track from town to stone

soon jammed with revellers

inching chattily towards

their sacred site

where she and he

vowed their proud love.

No kingdom could have crowned him

with more with joy than her.

An impossibly distant black bird

circled overhead and wondered why

so many bite-sized creatures spent their lifetime

running on the spot.

*Lyrics taken from the whole of Movement IV - Strings Pluck, Horns Blow, Drums Beat