Girls Who Play Fiddle Poem by Jeff Siegel

There are questions in life
That are best left to riddle,
The man in the moon,
A capricious tune,
And the attraction of men
To girls who play fiddle.

With fingers that play
With devil may care,
And beauty accented
By windswept hair,
They can take a firm soul
And turn it to brittle.

And all the while
We stare and smile
And render ourselves
To girls who play fiddle.

And when I am older,
And my son grows dulcent and kind.
Growing stronger and bolder,
And romantically inclined.

With a stammer and sway
He'll smile and say,
Dad, I need your help
To a perplexing riddle.

I will then smile and sigh,
And say don't be coy or shy,
And whatever you do
Don't dawdle or twiddle.

For take it from me
True love comes in three's,
And if you must choose,
Choose the one in the middle.

The one with the windswept hair,
Who can strike a tune out of celtic air,
Who will give you her all but take just a little.
Son, Choose the girl who plays fiddle.