The Fiddler In London's Tower
Fernando, I do sincerely extol thee.
You were as much passionate in symphony
as you were in death, which you faced willfully.
Cursed were the cruel war machines that silenced thee.
But still to celestial heights they lifted thee.
For in great honour at heaven's distant gates,
you became heaven's fiddler at God's request.
To play in courts before the heavenly greats
in a manner timeless at their own behest.
Fernando Buschmann, the fiddler at the tower.
He that rendered sad tunes in his final hour,
Thursday, April 25, 2019
Topic(s) of this poem: sonnet