While visiting a family friend in a Hospice House this week, we had the unexpected pleasure of seeing him joined by friends and son for an impromptu bluegrass session. What a blessing!
MEMORIES OF GOLD
Virgil picked the fiddle up
To play a little tune
And one by one the timid notes
Rang out across the room –
Each note a wee bit stronger
Than the one that came before
Virgil brought the strings and bow
To harmony once more.
The wonder of the moment was
Sealed up with tender tears
Of friends and family bound in heart
Remembering all the years
That Virgil played his fiddle
With a strong and gifted hand,
Bringing gleeful smiles and laughter
To so many ‘cross the land.
Virgil picked the fiddle up
And soon forgot his pain
The music claimed his spirit,
Soul and body once again.
How precious, then, to see him play,
His frail, beloved frame
United with his fiddle
In familiar sweet refrains.
Virgil played the fiddle
All because true friends in deed
Understood, so well, the value
Of his music; saw his need
To know again the magic
That no other hour could hold
Like Virgil and his fiddle …
Making memories of gold.
[Dedicated to Virgil and to his pickin' buddies Joe, Glen and Eddie.]
