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Music She Wrote Program

Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night

If music be the food of love,
Sing on till I am fill’d with joy;
For then my list’ning soul you move
To pleasures that can never cloy.
Your eyes, your mien, your tongue declare
That you are music ev’rywhere.

Pleasures invade both eye and ear,
So fierce the transports are, they wound,
And all my senses feasted are,
Tho’ yet the treat is only sound,
Sure I must perish by your charms,
Unless you save me in your arms.

Words and Music by Judy Collins
Arranged by Russell Walden

There’s no where to hide, no where I can go
I reach out my hand touching death itself
just another holy day in Sarajevo

Hiding from the planes and from the bombing
Fire in the sky burning down my life
There is no more love no more longing

(Chorus 1)

Once my mother sang to me and held me
Then the fire came falling from the sky
There is no one left who can protect me

Feeding on the dreams of all the children
War’s an evil bird flying in the dark
Every holy promise has been broken

(Chorus 1)

You are tall and strong and I am just a child.
Can’t we live in a peace stop the flowing blood
Make a blessed world where I can be a child.

(Chorus 2)

You have struggled here in Sarajevo
Courage you have shown to the watching world
We have prayed and wept for Sarajevo

Children dance again in Sarajevo 
Now the sun can shine 
Now the birds can sing 
Let the peace continue, Sarajevo

(Chorus 2)

 

(Chorus 1)

I dream of Peace
I dream of flowers on the hill
I dream I see my mother smiling
When I close my eyes I dream of Peace

(Chorus 2)

Do you dream of Peace?
Do you dream of flowers on the hill?
Do you dream you see your mother smiling?
When you close your eyes do you dream of Peace?

Dulce María Loynaz by Amaury Pérez

En mi jardín hay rosas:
Yo no te quiero dar
las rosas que mañana…
Mañana no tendrás.


En mi jardín hay pájaros
con cantos de cristal:
No te los doy, que tienen
alas para volar …


En mi jardín abejas
labran fino panal:
¡Dulzura de un minuto…
no te la quiero dar!


Para ti lo infinito
o nada; lo inmortal
o esta muda tristeza
que no comprenderás …


La tristeza sin nombre
de no tener que dar
a quien lleva en la frente
algo de eternidad …

Deja, deja el jardín…
No toques el rosal:
las cosas que se mueren
no se deben tocar.

In my garden, roses:
I don’t want to give you
roses that tomorrow …
that tomorrow you won’t have.


In my garden, birds
with crystal song:
I do not give them to you; they have
wings to fly.


In my garden, bees
craft a fine hive:
A minute’s sweetness …
I don’t want to give you that!


For you, the infinite
or nothing: what is immortal
or this mute sadness
you won’t understand…


The unnamable sadness
of not having something to give
to someone who carries on the forehead
a portion of eternity…

Leave, leave the garden…
Don’t touch the roses:
things that die
should not be touched.

From lessons by Y.M. Barnwell ©1993

For each child that’s born
a morning star rises
and sings to the universe
who we are.

We are our grandmothers’ prayers.
We are our grandfathers’ dreamings.
We are the breath of our ancestors.
We are the spirit of God.

We are
Mothers of courage
Fathers of time
Daughters of dust
Sons of great vision.
We are
Sisters of mercy
Brothers of love
Lovers of life and
the builders of nations.
We are
Seekers of truth
Keepers of faith
Makers of peace and
the wisdom of ages.

We are our grandmothers’ prayers.
We are our grandfathers’ dreamings.
We are the breath of our ancestors.
We are the spirit of God.

For each child that’s born
a morning star rises
and sings to the universe
who we are.

WE ARE ONE.

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