written by: TM Arko
Silent, illusive lonely minstrel,
his soul held close to breast.
Striking chords mellow stillness,
a tune the thought has blessed.
Pear shaped, wooded fretted beauty,
gently play the songs.
Moving flesh, calming essence yet,
heartfelt still it longs.
Strumming ballads of lives passed by,
the simple and the sage.
Echo visions the performer dreams,
deep down the inner stage.
Resounding air does beckon now,
let solitude be done.
True spirit draw near, softly,
the master and his lute are one.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Written in 1986 after attending the Laguna Arts Festival and seeing Jody Bergsma's painting of The Lutist.