Maude's Evening Call

Verse

The village green wears a silver rind tonight,
A hollow cylinder hums like a forgotten radio.
Maude perches on a stone bench, ledger on her knee,
A chipped enamel mug at her feet, steam long gone.
She counts the names by column, ink rubbed to ghosts,
While a muted trumpet flutters like a moth through fog.
A clarinet skates the air, polite as a letter,
And she holds the battered handset to lips that practice a smile.

Chorus

Ring or no ring, she murmurs each hello,
Spins phantom words into the cooling metal glow.
If the line is lonely, she feeds it lullabies,
Maude's evening call beneath the cylinder sky.

Verse

Neighbors drift by with ration tins and violin cases,
They tip their caps at her ledger and the handset's curl.
The brass band plays a jittery slow, shoes scuff the grass,
A roadside lamp blinks like an eye that won't forget.
She traces a name and pretends the dial will turn,
Her voice trimmed neat as a coin in the dim parade.
When someone asks if she waits for a vanished tune,
She only laughs, tucks her chin, and hums into the hush.

Chorus

Ring or no ring, she murmurs each hello,
Spins phantom words into the cooling metal glow.
If the line is lonely, she feeds it lullabies,
Maude's evening call beneath the cylinder sky.

Bridge

spoken word

One night the handset slips — silver skates on stone —
The brass leans in and hushes like a room holding breath.
She lets the receiver fall; instead of saying sorrow,
She lifts that thin tune from her chest and keeps it steady.

Chorus

Ring or no ring, she hums the circuit whole,
Turns empty air into a lantern for the soul.
When the world goes quiet, she carries the song,
Maude's evening call — patient, gentle, and strong.