Remembers my dead father,
At a sunny street corner
A broken consort
Of fiddle and flute
And an instrument misnamed
The 'woollen bagpipes'
Release The Lark
In the Clear Air,
The players lending life
To a time-worn tune
That gives delight and
Beguiles me from my grief.
A fiddler's hand is acting
On the silver strings,
The pearls of his eyes closed
To the sun thronged street,
READ SOME MORE
And the jostling shoppers,
And display windows proclaiming
Closing Down Sale! Everything Must Go!
I let fall a deluge
Of small change
Into the gaping mouth
Of a fiddle case.
The tune almost through
And it's last notes dying fall
Into the air
Into the Clear Air.
Liam Aungier’s first collection Apples in Winter was published by Doghouse
