The Picardy Third

The times of life are often rough,
they wear upon our hope of heart,
We reach for goals so truly tough
and wonder when the joy will start.

The job may end, the love knows strain,
we cry from morning, until late,
When ask for sun, but know just rain,
we wait for hope at later date.

The music sounds in mournful tone,
bassoon complains and drums do beat,
But when the heart knows just a groan,
the whisper comes with hope replete.

These minor keys will they relent
to bring some joyous tones to hear?
My waiting heart fore'er is bent
to hopeful score, so true and clear.

To work so late so many nights
I work on thoughts my mind creates,
For hope to give, to lift to heights
some soul made sad, relief awaits.

Conductors rare, who know the score,
may seek for song, that one right piece,
To make all ears the notes adore
and search for hope that would release.

In life we know some happy days,
we know some days of dark clouds, too,
When sit and wonder, heart dismays
at hope, that's filled with color, blue.

That Bach, the organ's patron saint
would share his kindly note as gift,
Doth give me hope beyond complaint
at homage music, heart to lift.

"What doth he?" seeks thy queried heart,
"Just this," my hopeful heart insists,
"The third is raised in final part
as minor song in strength resists."

The French know thirds of Picardy
as hope's strong arrow at the last,
The ones, who know The Christ will see
the Light of Home, when dark is past.

Let Hope be known on daily path
as sun upon horizon's range,
For music minor sadness hath
and major chord at end seems strange.

Yet, those who know, that's life full Light
is seen on Breath's Last Fleeting Bed,
Can know the Hope, that's Blissful Bright,
and walk that Door, not knowing dread.

by Jay O'Toole
on January 12, 2017

I'm a member of the Rising Stars Program for 2016-2017