Wandering on a strand
Weeping,Singing, a minstrel
I see a lost soul
To whom does he sing?
To whom does he cry?
I'm struck by mundane,
Why is he so free?
The unswerving charm of his melody
The vicious veracity of his symphony
The celestial shine in his every crevice
The convincing crescendo of his every facet
The walloping vista of his landscapes says:
"Love stole my prayer beads,
And gave me poetry and song"