The Last Organ Grinder
In a world of modernity and haste,
Where technology's advance has left its trace,
There stands a figure, a relic of the past,
The last organ grinder, his music to outlast.
With a weathered face and a heart of gold,
He cranks his organ, stories untold,
His fingers dance upon the keys so old,
A melody of memories, a tale to be retold.
His organ sings a tune of days gone by,
Of cobblestone streets and a clear blue sky,
Children gathered 'round, their spirits high,
As the last organ grinder passes by.
In the bustling city, he's a lonely soul,
But his music, oh, it takes a mighty toll,
For in each note, a piece of history's role,
The last organ grinder, preserving the whole.
His instrument, a wooden wonder in his hand,
Plays a song of nostalgia, a timeless strand,
He brings the past to life, a magic grand,
The last organ grinder, a legend in the land.
So, let us cherish this fading art,
The last organ grinder, a work of heart,
In his melodies, a world we can restart,
A living testament to the human part.
Copyright © Jahnavi Singh | Year Posted 2023
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