THE OLD VIOLINIST
He had played in the street, earned little at all,
He saw joy in faces but little money did fall,
Enough for a meal and a hostel’s warm bed,
At least tomorrow they would not find him dead.
‘I played my best’ he said to the lamp post there,
‘Lots of people heard me but they did not care.’
A ray of light shone over him, it was heard above
And heaven gave him a gift of warmth and love,
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 6 November 2004