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Sunday in the Park
Sunday in the Park
A concert in a pleasant park on Sunday afternoon
The highlight of the offering a complex lilting tune
Played with acumen by those well trained, their gifts bestrewn
Before a most discerning crowd which reaches for their boon
Crescendo rolls before a quiet and apt dénouement
Polite applause is scattered, before hitting restaurant
The knowing nods of gentlemen and strutting debutant
Who know the ins and outs and come expecting what they want
Upon the sidewalk sits a man with dirty calloused hands
Holding to a tarnished flute subject to his demands
And quietly he starts to play his blood upon the sands
A quiver in his simple tune, he plumbs the depths of man
A melancholy wafting air played just beyond the pale
Discordant notes of suffering beneath a metered grail
To one unscathed a breeze that passes barely touching sail
To those who’ve ridden out the waves a touch of old travail
No applause resounds after his musical display
Those who truly hear just shed a tear and walk away
© Bart Breen 2001
