Western Kansas World

There's a warble in the jingle and a stumble in the metre,
And the accent might be clearer and the volume be completer,
And there might be much improvement in the stress and intonation;
But there's music such as once was played before the ancient kings,
When the old man plays the fiddle and goes feeling for the strings;
There is laughter choked with teardrops when the old man sings.
And we form a ring around him, as we place him in the middle,
And he hugs up to his withered cheek the poor old broken fiddle.
And a smile comes on his features as he hears the string's vibration,
And he sings the songs of long ago with faltering intonation;
And a phantom from the distant past his distant music brings,
And trooping from their dusty graves come long forgotten things,
When he tunes the ancient fiddle, and the old man sings.
And while the broken man is playing on the broken fiddle.
And we press around to hear him as he sits there in the middle;
The sound of many wedding bells in all the music surges.
Then we hear their clamor smothered by the sound of funeral dirges,
Tis the story of his lifetime' that in the music runs.
And every life's a blind man's tune that's played on broken strings;
And some sit in silence while the old man sings.
-California Illustrated Magazine.