He said he had written his last anthem
but refused to play it
for fear that once it was played,
his world would shatter
and all would be as crust
on old moldy bread
that had somehow
inexplicably
shattered.

So he kept the anthem
in his back pocket:
protected, silent,
away from all audiences
so that none might know its contents
and he would be safe from the effects
of its play.

And then
he saw what he figured
was the final fate
and he finally decided
it was time to play out
all he had to play.

The anthem was out, then,
and, surprise!
Nothing was shattered!
Nothing went moldy.
Nothing was crusty.
People applauded.
Everything was all right.

There’s a lesson to be found,
but he couldn’t hear it;
there was too much clapping
for any other sounds to get through.