Love’s an old remembered song
A drunken fiddler plays,
Stumbling crazily along
Crooked alleyways.
When his heart is mad with music
He will play the same refrain
five times over, blindly grinning
in the bitter teeth of rain
Harlots sometimes give him silver
when they wish a special tune
but the virginal draw curtains
to exclude him as the moon
Children think him mad but follow
on his trail, not knowing why,
til his form becomes a lonely
spot against a darkling sky
Still upon some distant hill
where rain is wild and thunder claps
the drunken fiddler plays and plays
and plays until the last string snaps!
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