Minstrel Maggie Poem by Alven L. Robinson

Stars find the waters deep
and eyes of passion cry,
but there upon the corner
in the languid evening air,
Maggie found a place, a moment,
a feeling she could share
with the darting looks of strangers
who quickly passed her by - -
the cowboys of poverty
too dead to heed the times.

The pendant in her song
repelled the concrete dust,
and there she stood among them
like a pearl in the dawn,
gazing at the vacant hearts
who barely heard her song.
Sweet violin in hand,
soft smile to the cold,
Maggie played for paper deeds
but an emerald was her soul.

In the neon window glare
the honky-tonk was near,
each failed vista drifting
across the tarnished mirror.
She looked into it now and then,
her scarlet mood a portrait blue,
but the wryness on her lips
revealed what she knew.

The crystal dish could see
the black hills in the scene,
yet the Master Jeweler placed her
as if to find a dream.
A portent's glow,
as with the moon, would touch
the notes she played,
and take her to the edge
of the halo she had made.

And there she found the fragrance
of the rising summer night,
as a spiral mist of prayer
burnished by the pale light.
No purpose there to seek
beyond the crimson and brocade,
she'll play into the sunset
as a fortune born to shade.
The scent of curtains streams
along the serpent's road,
and on a rare occasion
her skies may turn to gold.