Bill Cantrell


The Fiddler Crab


They say he plays the fiddle
at the rising of the sun.
Back and forth the beaten path,
between the shells he runs

Knows not where he’s going
and he doesn’t seem to care.
As I waited for a song, he said
“ it’s very rude to stare”!

He does not like the water,
I do not think that he can swim?
Darts home in a panic
when the tide comes rolling in.

You will never hear him playing
and I think you need to know,
it is true he has a fiddle
but he can’t afford a bow.

Submitted: Friday, March 14, 2014
Edited: Thursday, March 20, 2014

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

I wrote this today for my grandson who is taking poetry at school

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