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Fiddle Man
by David Davis
PICTURE above:
Raymond Lacy, at 86, beloved grandfather for whom this poem was written.
Sketch by David Davis.
Fiddle Man
The old man took the fiddle,
his glasses perched just right.
Trembling hands caressed the bow,
and made the notes take flight.
His heart a-flutter,
as the music swept
around the border
of memories;
lovingly held close.
The country crowd
waltzed around the hall,
as generations had before.
They wheeled in step
and turned in time,
as they whirled around
the floor.
The fiddle man
played winter blasts,
and spring's enduring rains.
He fiddled sharp the happiness,
the bitterness and pain.
He fiddled love
and all he'd seen,
in all his ninety years.
He fiddled broken lover's hearts
till he brought them all to tears.
When the dance was over,
He took his hat and hickory cane,
He smiled at his audience,
and he never played again.
His kind old heart gave up that night,
He found eternal rest.
The mountains lost their biggest soul,
Now, he plays for heaven's guests.
But sometimes in the springtime,
after a cooling evening rain,
they say he walks the mountain trails
and fiddles there again.
You can hear the wistful music
up on Fiddler's Ridge,
as it echoes down the hollows
past the old upper pasture bridge.
Want to leave COMMENTS on this poem? Mail them to the USADS editor here.
Compliments: From: Betty of SC
Message: Love your "Fiddle Man." I feel as if I were there that night.
copyright david davis 1996--all rights reserved
Contact David at penwork@angelfire.comand visit his incredible web site at David Davis: Writer and Cartoonist.
Books to date:
Redneck Night Before Christmas
isbn 1-56554-293-2 (Pelican Publishing Company)
Truckers Night Before Christmas
isbn 1-56554-656-3 (Pelican Publishing Company)
And award-winning JAZZ CATS
isbn 1-56554-859-0 (Pelican Publishing Company
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