Midnight Minstrel

The fog and rain exchange their doldrums for a stiff northerly squall

Tonight the dark is deep and lonesome though a skiff of starlets fall

And it seems we hear the moaning of a wanderer at loss

For he cannot find the leaf-song where the willow-timbrels toss

So the minstrel of the bower takes his fiddle and his bow

Lays them down among the flowers that have shed their summer-snow

Now he turns to tune the tempest; strikes the maple mandolin

Silver sparkles ‘neath the lamppost as a throng of stars join in

If the softer strains of summer must be done, then so it be

He hails to the restless drummer waiting where we cannot see

But without a second bidding he releases want and woe

Spilling to midnight marauders a silk canticle of snow

Charm, chimera and chimney smoke and unchained melodies

Of days gone by and autumn sky slips from his lips with ease

And suddenly the wanderer has found his rightful place

He fills the air with Christmas cheer and trims the trees with lace

We snuggle ‘neath our quilted covers, close to love or fire’s blaze

As we listen to the darkness where the midnight minstrel plays

© Janet Martin