Old Guitarist By The Sea Poem by John Leon

Fine tuned to the sound of the ocean
Draped in foreign wears
Thrown into the wind with great caution
Beneath sky, and sun, and stares

In coins he harbored
Passer-byer's favors
Though his guitar was free
And he spoke as much as was
Spoken by his neighbor
That old guitarist by the sea

If you asked his name,
He'd smile politely
And he'll play your tune
If he knows

He'll last all day 'till his
Strings reach the country
And you'll ask him to stay after he
Already goes

Through hills of the
Great many borders
Past towns lost in name
Brought abroad by the
Passing of the waters
Here, there,
It's all the same

And when the full moon rises, he'd sleep
In the miss's garden
And he takes what he finds
She don't mind

'Cause he'll play her a tune
And if she don't know it
She'll say 'Who is it by? ', he'd say
'It's yours and it's mine.'

While we hope that we knew
What he was saying
In happiness they gathered 'round
To catch a glimpse of the
Old man in his praying
That they couldn't
Make a sound

Still I hear George whispering,
In the sound of the ocean