At seven years old,

She sits on a gray slate rock-

her imaginary stage,

And taps her conductor’s baton,

A crooked little branch off a pine tree

That holds magic and mystery…




She brings birds and bees,

squirrels and chipmunks,

to attention….

 They begin, slow and crisp.




A starling begins her solo

Singing from her tiny heart

in her tiny little breast

Medium soft


 Mezzo Piano


Soon the whole kingdom

Of the forest joins in…

Crickets and rabbits

Foxes and fireflies

Slowly yet precisely

They reach an exhilarating peak





She raps on the podium

To start the descent

Like calming a heartbeat,

But only silence now-

Critters scatter

one by one-


She turns and looks behind her,

The adults have arrived.


Sharon Frye