Busker

Busker

He stands outside the shopping mall, his eyes they tell a story

And through the sadness of his face, he didn't find his glory;

He almost goes unnoticed but was born with such a gift

As another song is sung, his guitar finds a tuneful riff.

He's been around for many years, took his songs so very far,

Acoustic sounds that echo - through many people’s hearts.

Some well known, some sad or happy but always played with gusto

And each and every time he plays, he puts on a perfect show.

People pass, some may stop, or throw loose change into his cap

And others might dance to his music and afterwards might clap!

They listen to the lyrics and all between the lines

Life hasn't been so good lately and there have been some better times.

He takes a breath, strums gently, takes some time out to recover,

Where would his life been now if he'd had been discovered?

A soulful voice, full of love and emotion but some people stop and stare

At the busker, who doesn't ask for much, just some time if you can spare?

To listen to his songs he sings in the cold outside some shops;

He would of done anything to find fame on Top of the pops!

Stardom wasn't meant to be as he plays in this market town,

Hoping the weather will not turn wet, drench him through and let him down.

He wishes he could turn back the clock and try a second time -

While youth was on his side and he was fit and in his prime

But through the tired wood and strings, the ballads never die,

Still very much alive but see the tears within his eyes.

The buskers' chorus now distant as shoppers keep on walking,

They had little time to stop and give - then carried on with their talking.

I wonder why he spent time today to sing in our home town,

In spite of lack of interest, he'll be here until sundown.

By the end of the day a few quid has been counted from the donations in his hat;

All the years he spent writing have fallen a bit flat,

But hence to say, he did perform, there were some that heard

And just to let you know, I hung on to every word.

Copyright Linda Lawrence

9th November 2018