Music of the Night

We hear the sounds

of the night

First the fiddler

draws his bow

across the strings

of woe

His melancholic voice

cries out sadness

and sorrow

He is the lonesome fiddler,

who stole his music

from the sounds

whispered in the breeze

The earthly moans,

The birds sing brightly,

little do they know

The world turns

to swallow them

We hear the sounds

of a banjo,

he played lively

to lessen the pain,

in concert

with the fiddle

The trees cried out

softly then louder,

as the breeze turns

into a howling wind

The fiddler knew his place

merely reflecting

ambitious spirits,

soaring high above,

below they’ve turned to stone

and a west wind blew

only the banjo player

could soothe the fiddlers blues

© CJ Clark

All Rights Reserved