A Maestro's legacy

The lilting music filled the air

With its oh-so-sweet harmony

Seeking to soothe the angry chatter

Of the milling crowd.

He played alone with all his heart

And soul; wished only to be heard,

Appreciated for his gift, his bane,

Music filled his soul.

Poor was he, struggling to eat,

To sleep on a bed was a dream,

And yet he felt the need to play,

A pull he couldn’t resist.

His eyes were solemn as he searched,

For one appreciative smile, a word,

He thought of stealing, begging or more,

But the violin reigned supreme.

Day by day his songs grew more

In depth, feeling, haunting melodies,

But the busy bees on the streets,

Didn’t give a damn.

Sometimes someone dropped him a penny,

Sometimes, even a pound,

But in his heart he felt so empty,

The ache of wasted time.

Years went by and slowly he knew,

Life was passing him by,

And yet he held on hoping that one day,

His music would bring applause.

His struggles grew more everyday,

His feet dragged on the pavements,

His faith and hope trodden upon

By those executive pedestrian shoes.

A young boy, seen 15 summers,

Sat on corner café and played a guitar,

Eyes bright, hopeful, excited to bring

His music to the public

The violinist saw, felt his heart clench,

Thought back to those early years when he,

Fresh, eager, naïve and joyous,

Waited for his day of glory.

He slowly went and sat beside him,

The maestro listening to the novice,

And at the end with tears in his eyes,

Clapped for the boy.

That fine day the violinist played,

As never before of happy things,

His feet were light on the pavements,

And he went to sleep with a smile.