The Old Musician

On saturday mornings at the street corner by the shopping complex he sits on a stool and his accordion play
The old tunes that he learned from his father when he was young in a Country far away
Always well dressed perhaps in his mid seventies his well combed hair trimmed neat and silver gray
And he is still a wonderful musician though physically he has known a better day.

He never has been known to play for money with him he doesn't bring the collection tin
And he never leaves his hat on the sidewalk for the passers by for to dropp their coins in
He only plays just for the love of music and the great gift he has he shares around for free
And he plays the tunes to others not familiar the old music he brought from a far Country.

Some in passing stop for a few minutes for to listen though five minutes listening the longest any stay
The clock 'twould seem to many is the master, time never waits for anyone they say
And anyway the music we do not know is not the music to hold our interest
Familiarity is much more to our comfort and what we know of seems to suit us best.

On saturday mornings at the corner by the shopping complex the old man plays the tunes from long ago
The old tunes that he learned from his father from the Northern Lands where the great Danube flow
On it's long journey across many Countries to the Black Sea the music of his culture with others he share
And with him he does not bring a tin for donations and nowadays people like him are so rare.

by Francis Duggan

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