Walks to the mound on the commons
alone with a guitar
where the air invites old souls
on a sunny Sunday or rainy Tuesday
hoping for smiling faces
or a few crows
he sings, has faith in the commons
language, tempo, voice
the spirit of community called to listen
to watch, no weapons or threats
just music
no bagpipes no crowns
just a man or a woman
remembering how they were saved
by kindness, instruction, teachers
rooted in fields of grass
where weeds find sustenance
where bees and wasps go about their business
where trees talk to other trees underground
and dandelions seek available light
even a few mice scurry across
looking for snacks along the way
a dropped crust
a cloud moves across the sky
silently letting the breeze carry it
then a faithful friend remembers
to join with a flute or a drum
or a stranger that heard
distant strumming
then curiosity bring others
to join to listen and as they stand
their survival is recorded
their kin are celebrated
and their ancestors smile
all forgetting the struggle
while they sing familiar melodies
familiar words
for this moment not forever
and no-one asks for this
to be cast in stone
or written in law
just trust the folk singer will always
be with us … minds and hearts call them
to the commons
and the meaning of the singer
comforts every generation
since the beginning of time
and just because we can’t hear the songs
of earthworms or butterflies
“doesn’t mean they don’t sing.”
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