On a cobbled street at half past noon
stood a bard with a hat and a wheezy bassoon.
His beard held crumbs of last week’s bread
while earworms tap-danced inside his head.
The bassoon was old but loyal and loud
humming woody tunes to a puzzled crowd.
While songs drifted through the marketplace
a cardboard sign leaned by his case.
It read quite plainly, for all to know
“Please help yourself. I’ve plenty of dough.”
Pedestrians paused with a quizzical face
staring down at the coins in the case.
A child asked loudly, “Papa, may we take?”
“Good Lord’’ said Father, “that feels like a mistake.”
Meanwhile the bard kept playing away
notes jumping like frogs, come what may.
The crowd kept gawking, unsure what to do
and something quite strange began to ensue.
A businessman grinned and tossed in a pound
“Best yield I’ve heard from a tune going round.”
A poet dropped pennies and a couple of notes
and hands were digging in generous coats.
And as evening came, the bard said deadpan
“Looks like I have more cash than when I began.”
He waltzed away, the silence breaking
singing, “Giving always beats the taking!”