The Fiddler's Child Poem by Richard Shultz

The old fiddle dreamed
On the top shelf
Far above his hands
It seemed heaven
In the dance
When his father
Played the arching bow.
With his eyes closed
His father never sang,
Yet the strings were singing

The child understood
The world was singing
Its song floating
Forever in his mind
If he could learn the words
and learn their unheard magic,
he could fill others
As his father had filled the air,
He might give them beauty
And free the music in his soul