DANNY BOY
Posted: Thu May 08, 2014 1:20 pm
DANNY BOY
SUE PEARCE (c)
A cherished old harmonica lies resting in its case
the tarnished piece of tin and bone now holding pride of place
upon a simple box of wood
a homeless man beneath its hood
as mourners from the “neighbourhood” farewell the music ace.
An only child and orphaned at the early age of three
his talent spurred by early days, when on his father’s knee
he’d nestle to a soulful sound
a simple tune that often found
a tear as “Danny Boy” rewound a place he longed to be.
The long dark days of orphaned life-a pillow stained with tears
the simple mouthpiece silencing the loneliness and fears
and when at last the doors flung wide
he faced the world, with every stride
he fought to fill the void inside that deepened with the years.
His music took him far and wide, no destination planned
he played the gigs, most times alone-sometimes within a band
and every time he took the floor
the crowd would cheer and shout for more
and “Danny Boy”, his favoured score, would bring them to a stand.
For years he wandered aimlessly- a long and restless road
he’d played at love but still, somehow had found no fixed abode
by day he worked the clubs and bars
at night- alone -beneath the stars
as dreams reopened childhood scars, he crumbled ‘neath the load.
Soon alcohol replaced a life where music once had been
it numbed his brain and soon became a crutch on which to lean
as darkness filled his troubled mind
the search for solace came behind
he closed the door, and drew the blind, then vanished from the scene.
The back-blocks of the city’s street on any given day
where homeless men would often meet and while their time away
they’d speak of hunger and defeat
the perils living on the street
neglected, feeling obsolete, they’d listen to him play.
Like rolling stones they gathered, drifters shadowing the night
their pungent, silhouetted forms a sad and sorry sight
but one with deep and sullen eyes
whose music offered compromise
who’d lost in life, now in demise, had found his guiding light.
A silence falls upon the few who gather in his name
a man who once the music world had lauded with acclaim
but then where crowds had gathered wide
so few today would stand beside
the grave of one who was denied, the love from which he came.
The casket lowers slowly now, the mouthpiece placed away
beside the soul who brought to life the tune he loved to play
as voices by the graveside claim
the tune for which he’d gathered fame
the song that held his given name, so fitting on this day.
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
from glen to glen, and down the mountain side
the summer's gone, and all the roses falling
tis you, tis you, must go and I must bide.
SUE PEARCE (c)
A cherished old harmonica lies resting in its case
the tarnished piece of tin and bone now holding pride of place
upon a simple box of wood
a homeless man beneath its hood
as mourners from the “neighbourhood” farewell the music ace.
An only child and orphaned at the early age of three
his talent spurred by early days, when on his father’s knee
he’d nestle to a soulful sound
a simple tune that often found
a tear as “Danny Boy” rewound a place he longed to be.
The long dark days of orphaned life-a pillow stained with tears
the simple mouthpiece silencing the loneliness and fears
and when at last the doors flung wide
he faced the world, with every stride
he fought to fill the void inside that deepened with the years.
His music took him far and wide, no destination planned
he played the gigs, most times alone-sometimes within a band
and every time he took the floor
the crowd would cheer and shout for more
and “Danny Boy”, his favoured score, would bring them to a stand.
For years he wandered aimlessly- a long and restless road
he’d played at love but still, somehow had found no fixed abode
by day he worked the clubs and bars
at night- alone -beneath the stars
as dreams reopened childhood scars, he crumbled ‘neath the load.
Soon alcohol replaced a life where music once had been
it numbed his brain and soon became a crutch on which to lean
as darkness filled his troubled mind
the search for solace came behind
he closed the door, and drew the blind, then vanished from the scene.
The back-blocks of the city’s street on any given day
where homeless men would often meet and while their time away
they’d speak of hunger and defeat
the perils living on the street
neglected, feeling obsolete, they’d listen to him play.
Like rolling stones they gathered, drifters shadowing the night
their pungent, silhouetted forms a sad and sorry sight
but one with deep and sullen eyes
whose music offered compromise
who’d lost in life, now in demise, had found his guiding light.
A silence falls upon the few who gather in his name
a man who once the music world had lauded with acclaim
but then where crowds had gathered wide
so few today would stand beside
the grave of one who was denied, the love from which he came.
The casket lowers slowly now, the mouthpiece placed away
beside the soul who brought to life the tune he loved to play
as voices by the graveside claim
the tune for which he’d gathered fame
the song that held his given name, so fitting on this day.
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
from glen to glen, and down the mountain side
the summer's gone, and all the roses falling
tis you, tis you, must go and I must bide.
