Male Choir in Four Voices

In the row of the old men
no one wanted to hold the drone.
And that was all they were offered.
Could they have sung anything else
without a quaver,
a sigh, an intake of breath,
a gasp, a faltering?

In the row of the youths
no one wanted to fall silent,
though their part
came in softly,
with a magical lightness,
only now and then.
Only now and then.

In the row of the men
a kind of fixed stare
kept most
of them from hearing
the beauty of the song.

And in the row of the children,
the magical first voice
was leaning upon
the three rows of its future.