The Fiddle Player
By Sam Whited
The fiddle player sat upon the stage Surveying all she saw; The dancers pranced upon the floor As many more came through the door And walked on down the hall.
Beside the band the caller stood, He looked at his cards and frowned: Circles and squares raced through his head As the new dancers stood around in dread Or fell down on the ground.
The banjo was played by a drunken fool Who’s wits were drowned in booze; But even Ale couldn’t make him so daft That he would forget his banjo craft Or cause him his skill to lose.
Beside him sat a mandolin, His hands o’er the strings took flight He’d stamp and stomp in time to the beat While his fingers tried to keep up with his feat And his eyes watered with delight.
There also played a sweet guitar, Without a penny to his name, But he was rich in other things, Music and dance were his diamond rings And he loved them all the same.
Far upstage the drum stood tall But its player was fast asleep; He always woke before his cue And with the rest he’d pay his due And work to earn his keep.
The bandmaster glanced into the crowd, Then signaled the fiddler to start With a neck-breaking tune By the light of the moon To quicken the pace of every heart.
The banjo and guitar strummed madly away, With a squawk and a screech they played, In the key of G, To a veritable sea Of dancers well arrayed.
The fiddler started to quicken her pace And the dancers became a blur Of tapping feet and moves so neat That the caller ran off down the street, Forgetting just where they were.
No matter that the caller dropped out; His dancers now knew the drill. Each petronella and dosido They executed with much gusto, Never allowing their feet to still.
The mandolin made a mournful twang, As all its strings did snap; With a whoop and a holler he jumped from the stage And started to dance with a passion and rage Til his feet could no longer tap.
Faster and faster the band played on, The fiddle player kept the time, With a start and a yalp the drum player woke He thought the whole thing a mighty fine joke So he played without reason or rhyme.
As the next phrase started up again With a faster pace than before, The drum head broke with all the strain Of beating hands like falling rain, So he threw it right out the door!
The bandmaster knew their time had come They couldn’t keep up with the pace, So he threw up one hand To stop the band But only the guitar fell out of the race.
The fiddle and banjo still played on Paying no heed to the crowd With a yip and a yaw, and a mighty yee-haw They played both soft and loud.
Finally the banjo could endure no more His fingers had all gone wrong With one last strum And a bit of drop thumb He finished up his song.
Now only the fiddle player could still be heard She bowed with all her might Playing away, Till the slow break of day Gave her quite a sight!
Daylight crept into the hall, (The clock read half-past four) And though the dance was finished at last The dancers into sleep had passed And were lying on the floor!
A response to the National Poetry Month prompt