The Romanian Poem by Matt Mooney
The Romanian
Seated at the entrance to an alley,
A music man on a shopping mall
Played his own plaintive melody
On a fine tuned Romanian fiddle
Attached to a shiny trumpet horn.
Playing to us, an elder of his race:
A conversation without speaking,
His heart and soul in his playing-
Saying what he couldn’t say at all;
His brown felt hat upon his head,
His bike leant up against the wall.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
4/24/2024 7:37:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A finely penned poem, Matt. SO much said in so few words. Captured delightfully! Thank you for sharing!