THE FIDDLE PLAYER

I'd watch her very closely
right thro the broken window
under the dim street light

I'd stand to get a clear view
her rosy smile
her innocent eyes
her dazzling face
heart so young
yet...

I'd watch her
come every dusk
trailing with her one black case
a bowl tucked in the arm pits
every dusk,
Monday to Monday
I'd see her

she'd lay her paraphernalia
mumble a prayer to heart
'n pick up her companion

she'd position the fiddle
right above her shoulder
right below her chin
she'd sigh

she'd move the bow
gracefully across the strings
as she closed her eyes
'n the notes w'd come to life
dance away into the night

every tune she stroked
every note she stroked
was magical
w'd go right to the heart
'n the strings of my heart
 w'd dance to the very rhythm

the tunes n notes w'd wonder
far 'n wide
' n men w'd gather
even birds w'd perch throbbing 'n weary souls
w'd find solace

she'd tire not
she'd play on' n on
till the very last shoe
was heard tapping away note, every tune
is a away
glad at heart

she'd whisper
'every note, every tune
is a message of hope
is a message of deliverance
is a reminder of the dark past
is a comfort of the future'

she'd leave the bowl
right below the dim light
street-dwellers to have a share
in the fortunes 'n misfortunes
of men
' n the dim street light
w'd fade out slowly
as she melted away in the night...
The Fiddle Player