dirty yellow music played.
By long emaciated fingers,
frail and callaced, strings shimmered.
Fingered strings in blue,
in the mood of life ending, poor and sad,
alone, ten fingers played somber tones
by the heart of an old, bearded man.
And his head bowed for his notes,
for his sadness, for a pence.
A loaf of bread would sustain him.
For water, he drank the rain that poured nightly
near the somber blue-grey ocean port.
And it's by being on those streets
that these blue strokes noticed him.
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