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

 

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