Such ancient walls as these
Hold a secret close to their breast:
Not keeping something out;
Not keeping something in
But to be still as stone
And to listen.
If these walls could talk
They would sing,
Resound with the song of the Ancestors:
With laughter and good company
The music of conviviality.
When music-alive, living music
Moves through your heart between these walls,
It will move through twice:
Once on its way to the re-sounding walls
The second time as it re-bounds from the walls
Such feedback is nourishment for the soul.
Between the Lub and the Dub
A poised still point,
And in the resounding silence faint echoes of the Song of the Forebears.
The lime-mortar and Silurian slate together house a repository
For timeless listening moments.
When the thrubbing song
Of fife, drum lyre and lute
The beat of music is alive
And throbs to the drum of Generations
That never dies
-The beat never stops.