The Music Man

The Music Man

The old man, bent and crooked, leaned heavily on his cane
I was sure he wouldn’t go far, it seemed like every step was a pain,
He stopped at a corner that looked to be the same as all the rest
Then wearily dropped his homemade bag, and sighed from deep within his chest

With great effort, he pulled out an old cigar box and placed it on the ground,
In front of his small stool, he tenderly laid it down
Then a battered rusty flute and a weather beaten fiddle were brought forth
He softly hummed an old tune as he lovingly cleaned them both

People rushed past this man, few noticed he was there
Some even cursed him for being in their way, but he didn’t seem to care,
He looked to the sky and smiled, one that only he could see,
He whispered a quick prayer with his eyes closed wearily,

Raising his flute up high, he pursed his lips to the mouthpiece
Eyes closed tightly, his face serene, he looked to be at peace
His foot started tapping the beat as his body began to sway
I watched quite incredulous as his age slowly slipped away

The more he played that flute, the younger he seemed to be,
He danced a jig and pranced in time, his movements fluid to see
The people now no longer rushed past, many had stopped to listen
They seemed in awe of this show, and many eyes did glisten

As he danced among the crowd, he often paused to mingle
And every now and then, near his box you’d hear a jingle
When the beat picked up, so did the dance, ancient he was no more
Until finally he ended with a sweeping spin, the crowd in approval roared

Smiling, he gently picked up the fiddle and moved the bow over the strings
His first draw of the bow reminded me of flying birds on wing
And just as when he played his flute, his age slowly slipped away
‘Til once again he danced around, and now the crowd began to sway

If I’d thought him young when he played the flute,
I couldn’t have been more wrong
For as he fiddled and danced about
It seemed he’d just play on and on

He ends the tune with a long draw of his bow
His head bent in fatigue, once again he looked so old
He gathered his instruments and filled his bag
With a deep sigh he looked around, and made as if to go

“Stop!” I cried, “Please just one more song”
He smiled for me a crooked smile, and looked off in the distance
“Tomorrow; same time, same place, I’m never far away”
Then slowly ambled off, leaning heavily on his cane

Jim Dorrell
8/20/07