My book of poetry

2. Tunes of the past

Underneath the northern star.
The old man had come so far,
To play his joyous tunes,
For all who may hear far and near.

Old and weak he may be,
But still he smiled modestly,
As he played beneath the willow tree,
Pleasing the people he could not see.

A young man tall and strong,
Came along to halt the noise.
As he had no care for the girls and boys,
He continued to take their joys.

Day by day the young man stopped him.
Again and again, stopping the gentle tunes.
Until the day, before the young man stopped the noise.
All the girls and boys found beneath the willow
Lay the old man.

Lay before his bed stood a wooden stake.
The young man regretfully seeing what he had done,
Had yet begun to break the silence.

The young man, full of grief,
Sat beneath the willow tree.
Holding the old man's guitar,
He began to sing the old tunes,
That he knew by heart.

He had heard the melodies,
Till it broke his heart.
For the melodies of his mother,
Now played by him.
To try and forgive the sin.

Whatever happened to,
The young man's heart?
Swallowed by pain,
As he slowly fell apart.

Although the old man could,
Sing no more, he knew
His heart would beat ever more.