Last Organ Grinder
In a quiet street, his music would play,
The last organ grinder, day after day.
Under the moon's soft and silvery gleam,
He lived his life like a fading dream.
No crowd gathered 'round, no applause or cheer,
Just the sound of his organ, crystal clear.
With weathered hands and a knowing gaze,
He played for himself in those dim-lit days.
No family, no friends, just his trusty machine,
He lived and he played in a world unseen.
As the stars above blinked out one by one,
The Last Organ Grinder's song was done.
Alone in the silence, he quietly passed,
No one to mourn him, no words that would last.
In the empty streets where memories wane,
The last organ grinder found his final lane.
His story untold, a life obscure,
In the heart of the city, he'd endure.
His music still lingers in the city's hum,
The last organ grinder, in the city's memory, drums.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
