Ode to the Busker

Masses hurry to downtown destinations, yet for you, they pause

to watch calloused fingers dance on fiddle’s fingerboard.

You capture them amid the chaos,

and they listen.  Every note and every chord.


Hurried plans are placed on hold to hear

your violin’s sweet-soul, siren song.

Your case is sparsely filled with stranger’s gifts,

but that’s all right.  It was for the music all along.


Only you, with audience entranced in improv

melodies, can stand to tower over background

skyscrapers.  Ambient noise and city smog are lost

in the hypnotic power of your fiddle’s sound.


Your street corner symphony resonates to crowds

that know no single race, or creed, or age.

In this moment, you are the Beethoven, The Beatles,

the Elvis of the sidewalk stage.


Join the conversation