In a history museum with stories of old, a room was freshly minted.

A castle age land of knights ever bold, with medieval life presented.

Merchants and serfs built up the land, while ladies and lords presided.

Knights knew their place save one in a band, who still lived a life undecided.

Twas’ Sir William the Singer who seemed rather odd, since he’d rather swing a tune than a sword,

He cried in his helmet at the thought of his job, which was the sole expectation of his lord.



On the eve of a party for the opening night, there in the corner William sat.

When out of the blue from looking for food appeared a hungry little rat.

“Why do you sigh with such tears in your eyes when there’s so much to do and see?”

“What can I see when it doesn’t fit me when all I want is to sing?

I’m locked in a role of a fighter who’s told that to sing is for women and bards!”



“That’s not true if you step out of the room and see that music is truly in your cards!”

They dashed from the room and saw with a zoom that each new exhibit had cultural songs.

From the dawn of time came beautiful lines of drums and dancing along.



African tribes shared similar lines of loving the land like people from over the world.

Native Americans of all different colors all danced in community twirls.