96 degrees in the shade
was a common thing growing up in those days.
Three little birds
not only sang sweet songs that captured you,
they danced to a melody so true.
Waiting in vain
for any love might seem too insane.
Drinking red, red wine in the night
will have you feeling right.
Stir it up
Fill my cup
I can’t get enough.
A deafened ear over the years
has never stopped his dream.
Playing for cheers he can’t hear,
he sits at third and fifth by the street.
The torment of losing his wife
gives his music life—
that’s why he tries.
Bowing the strings,
he remembers her, ever so dear.
He would play and she would sing.
Memories fading, the resonance of life he feared.
His frail hands understand
his mistakes in music and as a man,
if only he can play for her again.
The crowd grows empty,
only a few dimes litter his case.
He gives the money to a nearby charity.
It was his last performance at this place.
He’s gone to heaven now,
where he plays his violin for cherub crowds.
No longer a sidewalk violinist, but an angel in the clouds.
giving are the hands
life, love, and splendid grandeur
There will be times when words may hinder a portrait or song.
Some of my favorite moments are found in my negatives
taking patterns and material
to sew colors that only your
love can express.
choosing the right emotions
and threading your soul
I’ve mistaken your happiness
when you smiled,
while wearing the shirt you made.
Some of the buttons have gone missing now
and there are holes and stains all over.
You rush to fix it.
I don’t see anything wrong,
the love never faded.