On The Question of Soul?

(I have often thought about where some things that I experience come from. This is a speculation on what might be considered my soul.)

It started, I was sitting out on the deck.
One of our new 95 planet hot days.
Pavarotti singing O Sole Mio.
Then my friends the Finch family
Not to be outdone. Gathered from near and far.
As Pavarotti hit high C finches went one higher.
Thrilled to the point of tears. An epiphany!
This was the source of our music.

We imitated them, now they were trying to take it back.
My very first encounter at age seven was Gluck
A 78 Orfeo and Euridice, Locked in the room.
Nobody could see the tears from an old 78.

So started my souls gift of music.
Through life's darkest hours.
It was the balm, that kept me.

Thanks many good friends.
Brahms, your lullaby, Beethoven your fifth.
Hank Williams Lonesome Blues Russ Colombo Ramona
“When day is done you’ll hear me call”
Merle Haggard “Send Me Back Home”
Death row prisoners last request

Or Hank Williams “The moon just went behind a cloud,
To hide its face and cry."
Schubert Der Earl Konig. The cries of a dyeing child.
The terror, hid my head under the pillow.
Never screened out that very last gasp.
"I’m so lonesome I could cry.”

I sang alone out loud and in a crowd quietly to me.
In my 93rd year I believe the music spoke to my soul.
No I still don’t know what that is.

Pavorrotti sings of Pagliacci tearing out his broken heart,
Assures me it’s there. I’m sure there are others.
In the meantime, thanks, music makers for my soul.