There was a musical forest
where among the thick trees,
could be heard bugs and animals
concocting melodies.

Percussion of a woodpecker,
the low bass of a bear,
the humming of a hummingbird
and purring of a hare.

Their songs were dearest lullabies,
to a baby elk’s ears,
and sounded all the dearer,
beyond his childhood years.

In time the elk found his own voice,
a large impassioned shout,
adding a brassy, trumpet pitch
to round the music out.

One cool day, while eating mushrooms,
he spotted a machine;
chomping the nature in its path,
destroying all things green.

Though there were still aplenty trees,
his home’s music had dimmed,
and soon got even quieter
as more trees yet were trimmed.

Instead of the bats’ soprano
and low croaking of frogs,
at night the elk could only hear
the grim sawing of logs.

Although the elk’s friends moved away
he couldn’t leave so soon.
The forest still contained for him
the echo of a tune.

The last of the forest dwellers
completely all alone,
the only music now was his
solemn trumpet solo.

That lone winter his meals of twigs
tasted espec’ly bland.
As he watched all the snowflakes dance
he dearly missed his band.

Once warm, his forest was swarmed by
massive, vibrant Beetles,
maneuvered by these very loud
animals, called people.

Parked their Beetle’s at his doorstep,
made noises called laughter,
the elk learned people were no threat,
fun was all they were after.

The elk enjoyed a good time too,
liked playing hide-and-seek,
when people found him he roared loud,
making them gasp and shriek,

Despite the games he played all day,
giving people a fright,
he missed animal lullabies,
alone again at night.

One day he heard a fine noise come
from by the forest’s edge,
galloped there to investigate,
peeked through a bushy hedge.

A woman held a strange round tree
that sung in smooth bellows.
Between soothing songs she called
her tree-thing a cello.

The cello sounded like nothing
that he had ever heard,
more magical than hooting owls,
than all the cooing birds.

The elk just couldn’t help himself,
above the hedge he jumped.
The startled woman stopped playing
and started to pack up.

Oh, the elk needed her to know
that he was not a threat,
from hooves to antlers, he yearned for
a musical duet.

He let out a great trumpet note
the best note he could make,
the note, to her, was very sweet,
an audible milkshake.

Her trepidation subsiding,
she picked up her strung bow.
The woman and her new bandmate
soon found harmonic flow.

She played all her orig’nal scores,
plus some Brahms and Mozart,
together they found a key that
unlocked the music’s heart.

This thirty-year-old woman had
all her years been wishin’,
to find such synchronicity
with another musician.

When nighttime came the sleepy elk
crept back among the trees.
She said they should play tomorrow,
the elk, nodding, agreed.

All spring wondrous music they made
throughout the daylight hours,
received standing ovations from
nearby blooming flowers.

Each night, after the woman left,
the elk had song-filled dreams,
melodies flowed throughout his head
in a cool gentle stream.

In the summer they took cover
beneath the thick tree shade.
The elk was proud to show off his
home of the past decade.

He showed his friend the biggest tree
and best patch of mushrooms.
Some beauty still remained in what
machines had not consumed.

The woman said, “I would show you
around the big city,
but, compared to your lovely home
it’s not all that pretty.”

So she brought the city to him,
some fine delicacies,
little sandwiches and warm drinks
she called afternoon tea.

As much as the elk loved the meal,
he could surely eat a
lot more so the woman ordered
ten large mushroom pizzas.

Each day she generously gave
the elk new food to try,
everything from pasta salad
to coconut cream pie.

Maybe it was experience gained,
maybe it was the treats,
their delicious duets were now
resonating more sweet.

When the leaves turned orange and gold
she said “goodbye, my friend!
Don’t worry, I’ll surely be back
upon the winter’s end.”

The elk understood the words of
the friend he long adored,
though couldn’t comprehend how he’d
last long without their scores.

With discipline, he practiced his
wide range of trumpet scales,
but going back to eating twigs,
he felt a little frail.

The elk craved a veggie burger,
with hot, crispy french fries,
and assorted donuts with all
the flavours that surprised.

He stuck his wet nose in the air
and took a giant sniff,
all the food that he was craving
he caught within his whiff!

He followed the alluring scent
for a many long miles,
and roared with triumph when he found
a mountainous food pile.

If he believed in Elk Heaven
there’s no doubt this was it,
this very magical place called
the County Garbage Pit!

He ate his way up the mountain,
ate all the night and day,
this was a grand twenty-four hour
all-you-can-eat buffet.

Living there he made quick friends with
raccoons, rats, cats and goats;
they were not the worst of singers,
the lot could hold a note.

Despite three months of luxury,
all the food and fellows,
he thought often of the woman
and her soulful cello.

The woman had a nice winter,
spent time in Mexico.
She drove off to the forest once
she saw the melting snow.

Running twice around the treeline,
the elk she couldn’t find,
in no mood to play hide and seek,
she forged a plan in mind.

She played a song to draw him near,
and, getting scared, played on.
As chill crept in her bones she knew
her kind elk friend was gone.

Playing one last song, in mourning,
as she so sadly wept,
her bow swung so fast that the strings,
like her heart, were wrecked.

[music break]

Her sad song, carried by the wind,
could be heard crystal clear,
at the County Garbage Pit where it
tickled her elk friends' ears.

The sleeping elk felt a strong chill
as he opened his eyes,
his furry ears twisted towards
the song up in the sky.

That heartbreaking cello music,
the woman, could it be?
He dashed off from the garbage pit,
most curious to see.

Yes, it was his talented friend!
As she played on he hid
behind a hedge so sneakily,
having fun like a kid.

As her song ended he pounced high,
a wee hide-and-seek joke.
Once the woman finished screaming,
long tears of joy she choked.

The two of them were overjoyed
to be in the same place.
She wrapped her arms around her friend
for a warming embrace.

To complete the reunion there
was nothing left to do,
but for the two of them to play
a long reunion tune.

Live in the forest or the pit,
the elk had not planned yet,
all that mattered was the moment,
this beautiful duet.