Music Man Poem by Frederick Francis

Red colour that’s inherent
To the snap of a crisp winter day
Has since retreated away.
Still he sits, perched in place of the birds;
Their chirps silenced by the snow.
His bones tremble in time with the tune.
There is no wind cold enough
To freeze the spirit that sustains him.

This man has no half full glass.
Just a tear dropp splashed on the side walk
That froze the second it leaked
From the warm soul that shed it for him.
Still he smiles, and plays on.
Has nothing but his music, and yet;
He makes no request for more.

The instrument case is closed.
He has no wanting for the pity
That jingles in your pocket;
Clear continence folded in your wallet.
Accepts just nods and smiles
In recognition of what he has.

Everything he will need, and…
Nothing that can be taken away.

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