Remembering

The old man, on the old rocking chair

On the old porch, by the old tree

All sagged from years of ageing.

Usually, he sat quietly, almost asleep

However occasionally

He’d look at the fiddle on his lap

And his mind would begin to stir

Remembering music, he used to play

Until, seemingly on its own

His hand would begin moving

And as it reached for the old fiddle

He appeared to be taking deep breaths

But it was sweet music he was breathing

The deeper he breathed, sweeter the sound

With his head bent down fully immersed

His one foot would also tap along

With the old songs he knew so well

And as all this was happening

The old rocking chair to seemed to sag less

The old porch almost straightened

As he listened to the sweet sounds

Musical sounds he knew so well

Then slowly, his eyes would close

His breathing would slow as was before

And as the music faded away

He’d slowly drift off to sleep

 

Reviews

[Thomas W Case]

Great painting of the scene. Wonderful work.

[Dave Brown]

appreciate your comment
thanks for the visit

[Poetic Beauty]

I love this tale of a man sitting on his porch playing his fiddle getting lost in the moment and in the music

[Dave Brown]

Many thanks PB