The Wandering Minstrel

The minstrel wanders with his lute
He walks from town to town
There he sits down with his flute
And plays where there are none

He tells tales of men and myths
Of glorious lives long past
Of men ordinary save one deed
For which their names shall last

The minstrel smiles a rare smile
He knows men only too well
Some who fight, some who hide
Till death rings her knell

He has seen the many moods of men
And their dastardly deeds
He has seen life being taken instant
and new life given seed

Love, passion, death, life
He knows their petty secrets
He courts neither the rich nor the poor
Neither laughs nor frets

For years ago he too was young
And aflame from limb to limb
With the passionate haste of youth
That made his blood sing

He too loved and he too wept
Hurt, hid, sought and sinned
Year after year, moment after moment
Thrown to life’s buffeting winds

Somewhere he had grown wise
From hurt, pain and unmet need
Years of ups and downs taught him
The lesson of life to heed

That of all the peaks and the troughs
There is but one true source
And that source is the human mind
Which truth the minstrel knows

And so he sits down with his flute
And plays where there are none
Till he sets his lute to rest
With the rays of the dying sun

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