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Once in an ancient city

By a river with water sweet

A fisherman pulled his bursting net

With his young son at his feet

The boy played on a bamboo flute

A song so clear and true

His fingers firm and tone so clear

As his father showed him to

The fisherman sighed

With a father's pride

As the small boat drifted home

He smiled and gently listened

To what he thought was his alone

But the flute song glided on the wind

Like a graceful fishing bird

Across the Mother of Rivers

Its plaintive voice was heard

Through the windows of the palace

Where the highborn ladies lounged

Anointed by the evening breeze

Entranced by the lovely sound

In perfumed beds they coyly dreamed

To pass nights warm and long

In the embrace of handsome fishermen

With arms so tanned and strong

Even in the palace garden

Where peacocks walked at ease

The old Queen thought of her wedding night

As the music caressed the leaves

But such thoughts dimly vanished

As the flute song faded away

Like this once great city

Now just dust and clay

But fishermen still work the river

In a simple rush basket boat

And teach their sons the bygone songs

That their ancient fathers wrote

And once again a young boy plays

In those same primordial tones

Past empty palaces and temples

Now, just piles of stones

Kings and queens are but memories

As new ages fade and dawn

But like the eternal river

The fishermen still live on

Learn more about this author, Ted Onulak.
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