Underground. Poem by Cecilia Parkin

I walked the underpass and round
the corner - came a sound
so sweet as from a Concert Hall
but this facade - grafitti walls.

No concert artist - finely clad
had more style than Busker Lad.
With violin and bow as one
the sonorous sounds went on and on-.

In minds eye - my fingers matched his own,
my anorak - a golden gown! .
And as the last sounds died away
there were no words that I could say.

He looked at me across the void
made a bow, I gave a smile.
Age no divide - just for a while -
Knowing we had briefly shared
another time, another world.