The minstrel that carries a bell also carries a harp.
He plucks the harp and cares not who is listening.
He plays music to close the gaps of absence.
He fills solitude with notes of remembrance.
Now the harp plucks itself, serenades a name
he tries hard to put behind his bedroom walls.
The harp rings the name he thought he could
bury in beach sand and least worry about. |
