STILL LIFE IN FARGATE - Poem by Margaret Wilde

Still Life in Fargate

A saxophone in the precinct
And a tiny child-bundle stood rapt –
Whether in joy at the music
Or in wonder at the loud sound.

Unembarrassed the busker,
Flawless the blowing.

We too were arrested;
We also were charmed –
But not by the notes –
By the child.

And there was a musical tableau:
A little one listening,
Adults adoring.

I felt I was part of a painting.
Or part of a poem.


Margaret Wilde © 2007