The Fiddler

twinkling stars above

pierce through evening mists

to shine on the fiddlers strings

this is a night of trysts


flowing with the harp strings, strummed water

the autumn leaves swim about like goldfish

awaiting winters frozen fingers, sore with playing


seeking, hunting, yearning, he turns to the lament

an autumn leaf falling, aimless, from the tree

brown scented, old wood, soaked in years of wishing


he lives to travel, moving, burning,

desiring, to be somewhere other than here

the tune plays on, long after he is gone


his music filled me up

gladly golden, red and green,

imbued in his sweet dream

remembered in the song


remembered in the song



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s