Remembers my dead father,
At a sunny street corner
A broken consort
Of fiddle and flute
And an instrument misnamed
The 'woollen bagpipes'
Release The Lark
In the Clear Air,
The players lending life
To a time-worn tune
That gives delight and
Beguiles me from my grief.
A fiddler's hand is acting
On the silver strings,
The pearls of his eyes closed
To the sun thronged street,
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And the jostling shoppers,
And display windows proclaiming
Closing Down Sale! Everything Must Go!
I let fall a deluge
Of small change
Into the gaping mouth
Of a fiddle case.
The tune almost through
And it's last notes dying fall
Into the air
Into the Clear Air.
Liam Aungier’s first collection Apples in Winter was published by Doghouse
