The Old Accordion. Poem by Matt Mooney
The Old Accordion.
Eyes mesmerized by long musical fingers
Reaching out across the centuries’ divide
To draw from the wellsprings of the past,
Divining the pure music that he inherited
With the old accordion- a prized possession
Passed on from one generation to another:
Played proudly too for fellow Irish exiles
In New York, back in the nineteen twenties.
I like the sentiment and style. Great reflective moments, just what I like to see in poems!
Amazing! Just the title caught my immediate attention since it brought instant memories of my late uncle who loved to play the accordion every day and night. I grew up listening to his mellow songs. You clearly detailed your fabulous experience! 10+++ Thank you for sharing! Love and Peace for always! Romeo from New York City! ...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/23/2024 6:27:28 PM # 1.0.0.1119
More than nostalgia, this is a work of the human soul. Very good.