The Gift of a Pearl

By: Fortunat Posted on: November 02, 2005

The jeweller of the deep blue sea
Cracked his shell to speak with me.
Peeking out from opalescence,
Sensing wonder in my presence.

"You, my son, are no real Mage
Come to take my treasured pearls.
You are of a tender age:
A boy-faced youth, an impish churl.

"Mages, boy, are sage and wizened,
Seeking broad and far horizons
O'er the boundless emerald sea.
They'd not sit and speak with me."

Laughing then I stroked his shell,
Barnacle-encrusted home,
Rough to touch and hard as well.
Through many seasons he had come.

"I, my soft translucent friend,
Am a Bard until the end!
Though I spin the crystal shards,
I wake and eat and dream: a Bard."

He opened up his shell again
And from the depths a chorus poured
Of waves that crash upon the sand
And tides, in a triumphant chord.

There upon his soft pink belly
Haunting, round, in briny jelly,
A pearl the size of Estach's waist!
Glowing white, pure and chaste.

"Sing to me, my musical chum
A melody about the ocean.
I care not if you scream or hum,
Just sing with fire and emotion."

So I began to pluck my Lyre,
Weaving instrumental fire
Through the air with Bardic grace,
A look of joy upon my face.

A nautical ditty, sure to please,
Resounded from the strings.
I waded out above my knees
To the oyster, I did sing.

And in return he offered me
A perfect shining moon:
The pearl, inside had carried he
Since I was in the womb.

So next time you're out pearling,
And your staff or sword you're twirling
Or your axes sharp you're hurling
Into the oceans, swirling;

Just remember that a simple tune
Played with style and cheer
May bring to you a pearly boon,
If it strikes the oyster's ears.