A song for the ages

Relaxing on the porch tonight I quietly listened to the cicadas sing their love songs. Only the male cicada makes this sound in an effort to attract his mate. Every click, every chirp, indicates  a lonely cicada. At times they are quite loud while other times the sound is reduced to only a handful of solo artists in this nature's choir. 

As the evening comes to an end I wonder if my heart makes a similar sound that is only heard by my love. Does she hear the echo in heaven? Is it literally music in her ears? What does it sound like to her? Is it a blues song? Is it a twangy country tune? Does it call to her from across this great expanse? Together, are she and Beth busy with the things of heaven? Too busy to hear my song? Or, does God allow them to sit among the great crowd of witnesses that He has cheering me on? Am I a one man concert for friends and family that have gone before me?

I wonder, does she recall the words that flowed from my pen so many years ago in the poems and songs I wrote for her? Has she forgiven me for not writing as I once did? How many poets and wordsmiths could craft a sonnet of beauty while actually in the presence of that beauty? Why is it that we have to be apart from the very thing that inspires our words for the words to present themselves? Perhaps it is because the beauty that inspires us so captivates as to keep us from thinking clearly. 

Who is it, that while sitting on Santa's lap, asks him for something we already have? I had a love that was so special and sweet. A gift from God above that brought me yet another gift. Now both of those gifts are no longer with me and the words again begin to flow. The song on my heart beats on. The pounding sometimes soft, sometimes loud, but ever thrumming. 

I am a solo artist. My song is there. To be heard in heaven for sure, but, just maybe, to be heard on earth again. That is my song. Do you hear it? Do you sing it too?