My Soul

Hay is for horses, slop for the hogs,
Seed for the chickens and bones for the dog,
Carrots for rabbits, cheese for the mice,
Crumbs for the ants and flesh for the lice.
An ecstasy for everyone, their own coveted dish.
Everyone has a dream for food, their own hidden wish.
You’ll see some happy, and some are quite mad.
It depends on their favorite, if they have it they’re glad
There are many great things in this world I could eat.
And many I would call my own wish.
But there is one thing that can never be eaten.
And I have claimed it, uneatable, my dish.
What is uneatable, untouchable, unending that is better
Than satisfying our delicate tastes?
What is ever-changing and elusive
That has the hearts of all the great?
Satchmo, Basie, Oliver, and Parker-
What names could ever top those?
My dish was the favorite of all of these
And with it to the top they rose.
It moves the emotion, it moves the soul,
On every being it takes its toll.
My heart is given to no woman- ‘tis true.
My dish is music, the rhythm- the blues!
As much as I hunger for more tasty foods,
And long for a tangy bite,
My food, my drink, and my nourishment
Is all in the music they write.
From the mouths of slaves it started
As they were brought to serve our land.
Their spirituals bore hard witness
Of Nature’s cold, cruel hand.
Many an arm was broken
Many were the souls who died.
To bring this music to our land
Of poverty and of pride.
And from this sweet, sad music.
There developed a sort of style,
Of an art that glowed with talent
From those with soul and free of guile.
The music still continues on
And has pierced the heart of man.
And whispers of a wondrous sound
That came from another land.
This music is my music.
The blues I take for food.
It gives me what I hunger for.
It determines the day’s mood.
It is food for my stomach.
It weakens Nature’s toll.
It is my strength and vigor.
This music is my soul.