The Batting Line

Merrily, quite merrily, I do sing.
Not because I must or because I ought,
But because singing has quite a nice ring.
And while it's true, as we both knew, were taught,
That singing is rude in public, construed
By this listener as awkward and plain;
Yet get a patron for a sword, that bled
Of your freedom you may earn by your pain,
And suddenly no one is bored by song
That comes forth from the north wind pipes you own.
I sing because I enjoy what was long
Ago told to me by my mother, shown
In my infancy. A song makes most clear
That what we hate, do most verily fear,
Is nothing more than a foolish thought made
In the heart to be the law of the land;
When in truth such a law, an ought, is played
By those with the power, do understand
That by constraining talent and joyful
Song to only a few they discourage
Many a man from expressing his soul
And limit the few as their personal page
To sing and to dance whenever they say
That today is a good day. I say nay.
Nay to those that would keep my soul in check,
That would my heart overcome, that do peck
At my wants and my hopes and at my dreams,
Who provide nightmares at which my soul screams.
I will sing and dance, but not for power;
Touch me if they can, if it is my hour.
So while I wait for them to seize my frame
I sing quite merrily. Though very plain
My song may be to those who hear it said
It is worth more while than such infantile
Songs made by those who have paid and have bled
To the power that be in order that
They may have their chance, their turn at the bat.

                        The Batting Line, (c) Luke Bennette, April 2013