So, then the girl said, “Just come with me!” — her voice filled with warmth and with yearning,
She could not yet see she was pointing, to a spot in the clouds that was burning,
Up above, the bright bird circled ‘round, like a rapturous flame in the sky,
The boy felt prepared for adventure, with no need to ask what, where, or why,
He felt that the tall trees were calling, as he followed behind her swift feet,
And into the vast bright green meadow, they both strolled through the summer’s white heat,
The girl, with the boy there beside her, walked along through the sweet grassy field,
The boy and girl each held a tin can, as they walked on with joy unconcealed,
The girl’s hair was red like the autumn, and her knee had been bruised from a fall,
The boy had some scrapes caused by baseball — on his elbows, in streaks red and small,
Their cans both had holes at the bottom, large enough for some string to pass through,
And, within both their cans, the white string, had been knotted to keep it there too,
Their two cans of tin were connected, by this kite string in twelve feet of white,
Then, the girl and the boy walked apart, ‘til the long string between them stretched tight,
And the boy put his can to his ear, list’ning close for what she had to say,
And the girl put her can to her mouth, and she said, “It’s a beautiful day,”
Then, the boy felt a strong rush of heat, like warm telegraphed fire in his veins,
Which is when the peculiar bird fell, dropping onto their string in bright flames,
And the bird grabbed their white dangling string, which it snagged in the grip of its claws,
And the bird yanked the cans from their hands, with white sparks crackling loud like applause,
Then, the bird leapt, releasing the string, and the cans both fell down to the ground,
The meadowlark bounded high upward, in a ribbon of light with no sound,
Now, the boy and girl looked at the cans, both expecting to see something weird,
Yet, the tin cans and also the string, looked the same as they’d always appeared,
But, they heard a faint melody then, so they picked up their cans made of tin,
In the cans, a miraculous thing: they could hear songs that came from within,
And the girl looked amazed and amused, she yelled out, “Beatles! ‘Here Comes the Sun’”
The boy yelled back, “‘Sloop John B’ — Beach Boys!” with his voice full of wonder and fun,
Elated and dazed, they were baffled; but, what’s more — as if songs weren’t enough —
Now they realized they had been healed, in the spots where they once had been scuffed,
The girl pointed at the boy’s elbows: his scrapes, they no longer existed,
And the boy pointed at the girl’s knee: all healed like an angel had kissed it,
Then, they ran back to town to her mom, who was resting in bed with the flu,
And they placed a tin can near her ear, and her mom could hear Mozart come through,
She rose up in sheer joy from her bed, and then, laughing, sung out, “I’ve been blessed,”
And while wearing her orange paisley gown, she washed up, made a meal, and got dressed,
Then, the boy and the girl searched the town, finding any sick woman or man,
Whenever they found a sick person, healing music poured out from the can,
Soon, they learned of a very ill man, so the boy and girl rushed in a jog,
To visit a local toy maker, whom they heard was as sick as a dog,
And soon, when they got to the toy shop, they beheld wooden marionettes,
Harmonicas, flutes, and pianos, and some new shiny gold clavinettes,
And paint sets in bright watercolors, and puzzles still just half-completed,
And groupings of small wooden soldiers – some in piles, but most of them seated,
And small planes that hung from the ceiling, with their whirring propellers and lights,
Round frisbees with trims of bright silver, and some phoenix-like red silken kites,
And there, on the floor, on a mattress, the toy maker looked like a puppet,
He was limp like a hot air balloon, that sunk when a tree tore and bumped it,
The boy asked him, “Sir, what’s the matter? What is ailing you, causing this stress?”
The toy maker answered, “I’ll tell you. It’s just love, my friends. Love, nothing less,”
The boy asked, “A lady? A sweetheart? Do you think you might get one more chance?”
“Not this time,” the toy maker answered, “Now she’s gone and I’m pierced by romance,”
So, the girl put a can to his ear, betting he’d hear a song that could heal,
The toy maker’s eyes filled with gladness, and he said, “What a joy that I feel!”
He continued: “I know this song well, from a dream in my childhood years,
My youth had so much disappointment, but this dream came and calmed all my fears,
I dreamt of my life in the future, when I’d help children lonely and sad,
I’d construct toys from wood, cloth, and clay, the best presents these kids ever had,
I saw myself crafting and carving, making toys that were fine works of art,
In this dream’s when I heard that sweet song, like a music box, lifting my heart,”
The boy and the girl were astonished, and they sat there dismayed on the floor,
Just then, from outside, came a whisper, and a few gentle taps on the door,
Then, the boy and the girl both got up, and they opened the door with a lurch,
At the door was a songwriter guy, and a lady who taught at the church,
And the songwriter said to the kids, “We have learned of your life-giving cans,”
The church woman smiled, and she added, “You might say we’re your two biggest fans,”
Then, the girl and the boy led the way, for the toy maker, songsmith, and sage,
They all journeyed out to the meadow, where the whole story had its first page,
The girl and boy told what had happened, and they spoke of the meadowlark’s fire,
The lady from church gazed up skyward, and she said, “Your songs come from much higher,”
“Now, listen,” she said, “it’s symbolic. These tin cans, they bring songs for the soul,
“Your cans are sublime, most enriching, but they’re not your true destiny’s goal,”
“That’s right,” said the writer of music, “Your tin cans, they are simply a clue,
“Search your hearts; you’ll find the real reason… why the flaming bird visited you,”
The girl and boy felt, at that moment, a warm mutual pull to embrace,
In each other’s arms, they were happy, with a calm serene joy on their face,
Their eyes were closed, so they could not see, when the bird dropped again into sight,
The string and tin cans sparked and trembled, til the bird leapt up in plumes of light,
Then, the toy maker picked up a can, hearing nothing, he said, “My song’s gone,”
The boy said, “The song never left you. You can hear it each morning at dawn,”
The girl added, “Yes, it’s a mystery. But, listen, sir, here’s what we’ve found:
There is sadness and sickness in life, but in music there’s healing through sound,
See, our telephone made from tin cans, is exactly like anyone’s ears,
A soul that is open to beauty, is a soul who triumphantly hears.”
* * *
The Beatles, “Here Comes the Sun”:
The Beach Boys, “Sloop John B”:
