They climb ladders
looking for high notes,
Unlimited by sky
they seldom touch the ground,
No matter the season
there is always spring in their steps.

Moons, both blue and gold,
star trails, a bee in the cheese,
tendrils of hymn and always
the tag alongs.  Days that last
for weeks, paladins of pieces,
riffs that fill in the spaces
between songs.

Eclectic, electric, acoustic,
coldwater flat or loft,
penthouse or hovel,
never enough funds
but this carnival of harlequins
always keeps seeking.


4 thoughts on “Buskers

  1. BoardFlak

    A hand-to-mouth existence, probably lived hand-in-hand and with fewer cares that one would expect. You paint an interesting picture.

    No song lyrics to go with that one (okay, I did think about the song “Cotton Jenny”…)

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