The Oboist On the Hill

A lone man Standing in a cold rock outcropping Rain soaks him to the skin He laments the world’s troubles War, famine, disease and poverty His soul feels the pain of everyone around him A black oboe touches his lips Playing a sad refrain One that echoes through the valley below Each note carries a woe Away from him and into the world around Into the clouds that float above Taking them into the beauty of a rainbow Thousands of people flock to the hill Just to listen to this single man His songs lift their spirits For a moment One brief moment His songs allow them to smile And for the moment They are happy All because of a lone oboist Standing on a rock Soaked by the spring rain