The Melody Man

A song, a strum, a graceful bow,
happy or sad, the melody man woe.
Singing, leaping, dancing waltz,
he did it all for the crowd he owe.

A harp, a flute or a guitar he play,
each note, each tune, he struck with gay.
Making people spin and sway,
forgetting all of their dismay.

His life he own as long as the curtain's up,
rattling tunes for hearty clap.
Big smiles, big cheers, big applaud on top,
brought tears for every coin that had dropped.

But when the lights had died and the floor started creaking,
there stood on the stage, a lone old man singing.
Telling the tales of a melody man dancing,
coming from a place where people once remembered laughing.

A bow, a gesture, a tip of the hat,
every show I know will have its last.
Time would come again to past,
covering the artist with memory and dust.

But when the curtains are drawn again,
the spotlight will shine brighter than flame.
This time people would all proclaim,
No joy nor happiness had escaped his reign.

For the melody man would keep sorrow in bay,
By singing the songs of the early jays.
Because music is the world he lives each day,
and music are the words he would say.


The Melody Man.




Stranger Passing-By
SP-B/10/01/12