Awash in adoration A performer, tried and true Has performed for lords and ladies Yet sings for peasants too His stories always catch one's fancy A voice so pure, a clarion call Dulcet notes, his hands as an angel's The Bard stands proud and tall Now the fingers fumble useless Along the fraying untuned strings And a haggard voice starts braying About a dozen jumbled things His tongue feels thick against his lips A mind and memory to betray A confidence, so cool, has shattered -- He does not quite know what to say The words wash 'round, but no collection No words strung forward to perfection Emotion burning inside to be heard Lips moving, but scarcely a word Funny how a girl, without trying hard Has done these things, has silenced the bard
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