I see another image of you,
-still playing the squeeze box.
This time alongside your brother,
-my uncle,
the Fiddler.
Both of you in your
everyday clothes.
Perhaps the smell of fresh grass,
-cut hours before,
still lingering in the air.
In the Fiddler’s kitchen.
A good time I bet,
-the smiles give it away.
You went to the Fiddler’s house often.
Towards the end, almost every day.
One day the dreaded “C” word
visited the Fiddler.
He hasn’t picked up his bow for awhile.
Long days came and went.
Then the dreaded day arrived.
You played his favourite song,
“Sweet Forget Me Not”.
We only heard your accordion.
The sound of the fiddle was
silenced.
Today when you play that tune,
do you picture his laughing smile?
Do you play it slower, and wish he was here,
while knowing you’ll never
hear the Fiddler anymore.
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