Seated at the entrance to an alley, <br />A music man on a shopping mall <br />Played his own plaintive melody <br />On a fine tuned Romanian fiddle <br />Attached to a shiny trumpet horn. <br /> <br />Playing to us, an elder of his race: <br />A conversation without speaking, <br />His heart and soul in his playing- <br />Saying what he couldn’t say at all; <br />His brown felt hat upon his head, <br />His bike leant up against the wall.<br /><br />Matt Mooney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-romanian/