From The Road Series...The Maestro
It's strange the people we pass and yet not experience...if only we look in their silence we might hear the echoes of their life. Such was a time on this cold and gray autumn day...
As I passed his fingers were pressing the silver keys with loving art,
and the flute he was caressing with the silence of his heart.
"Play something for me maestro"...
In his fading eyes was a story of life that was written fair.
The morning sun glowing and warmed the winter in his hair.
There was a glow of un extinguished embers deep in his eyes,
as he nodded and begin to smile.
A youthful smile. Strange how all the silver marrows still have a golden yesterday.
Now the flutist, bowed and slender no longer marks the time to the baton's lead, but he begin to breathe a message tender through his mind and that mellow reed.
The melody came with the wisdom of the ages,
pulsing with the ebb and flow.
It was a sage's song
from a land so long ago.
In his fading eyes was a story of sanctified days of youthful yore, and yes, tender reverence for a glorious score.
The sound strolled down the street through the flute's narrow ally, as he pressed the silver keys with loving art, deep from the silence of his heart. A melody laden with a life that was written fair. Every movement he rendered from the slender instrument echoed again where love and youth once strolled, breathing out his soul through his fingers and the flute he was caressing... a silence from the heart.
May you and the silence of your heart never part...Doc
It's strange the people we pass and yet not experience...if only we look in their silence we might hear the echoes of their life. Such was a time on this cold and gray autumn day...
As I passed his fingers were pressing the silver keys with loving art,
and the flute he was caressing with the silence of his heart.
"Play something for me maestro"...
In his fading eyes was a story of life that was written fair.
The morning sun glowing and warmed the winter in his hair.
There was a glow of un extinguished embers deep in his eyes,
as he nodded and begin to smile.
A youthful smile. Strange how all the silver marrows still have a golden yesterday.
Now the flutist, bowed and slender no longer marks the time to the baton's lead, but he begin to breathe a message tender through his mind and that mellow reed.
The melody came with the wisdom of the ages,
pulsing with the ebb and flow.
It was a sage's song
from a land so long ago.
In his fading eyes was a story of sanctified days of youthful yore, and yes, tender reverence for a glorious score.
The sound strolled down the street through the flute's narrow ally, as he pressed the silver keys with loving art, deep from the silence of his heart. A melody laden with a life that was written fair. Every movement he rendered from the slender instrument echoed again where love and youth once strolled, breathing out his soul through his fingers and the flute he was caressing... a silence from the heart.
May you and the silence of your heart never part...Doc
