wobblytroubadour

The Wobbly Troubadour

I am but a weary troubadour,
wobbly in both voice and knee,
who doesn't quite hit the notes,
that once came so easily.

My dash done left long ago,
and my costume doesn't fit.
And I best not bend down,
for fear that my pants will split.

Nor can I still scale the walls,
to reach you in your tower,
nor climb up to your balcony,
like dashing mad Tyrone Power.

But if you open your window,
you'll let my simple song come in,
sung by this weary warbling man,
with white whiskers on his chin.

And if my song touches you,
throw me down a crumb or two,
and maybe toss in a kiss as well,
which I will send back to you.

For even though I sing off key,
my heart still sings like a lark,
and it is that young troubadour,
sending you kisses in the dark.

copyright 2001 by Roland Ricker