The Fiddler

Almost every weekend I go shopping on King Street because, despite my current financial status, I have acquired a shopping addiction. So every weekend I go and every weekend I pass by the same man standing in front of the old Lucky Brand store, playing his violin in the hopes he’ll make a few bucks. I’m sure if you’ve strolled through downtown you’ve had the pleasure of hearing him play as well. I don’t know a single thing about this man (he is a complete and total stranger), but as the weeks go on, he feels less and less like a stranger and more and more like a friend. Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s his kind demeanor, but I always seem to find myself dancing to his melodies. He’s a part of Charleston’s charm, I think. This is a poem I wrote about him because he deserves to be recognized. 


“The Fiddler”

Standing on the corner of Wentworth and King,

He plays to the tune of passersby’s dreams.

Collecting the spare change of people unknown, 

He fiddles in blue jeans and does so alone. 

Performing for citizens and tourists alike, 

The streets are his stage but you’ll never hear him gripe. 

A one-act wonder, he’s the town’s pride and joy,

So there’s dancing in the street whenever he is employed. 

Talented enough we wonder his story.

Perhaps the boy inside was meant for fame and glory.

So whenever you visit this town of mine

Be sure to pass The Fiddler by.

He stands on the corner of Wentworth and King 

And if you ask kindly, he’ll play to the tune of your wildest dreams.