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the singerThose who create works of art, such as paintings or poems, are often driven by something within that causes them to make something. Often, their major source of satisfaction comes from what they have created.

However, they are only human and are subject to the desire for recognition, if not for them, at least for that which they have created from their hearts.

The picture? It's a stock image of a medieval minstrel. Close to the image in my mind as I wrote the poem. I pictured a medieval village with the inhabitants reporting to the baron, or the village chief.

We Cannot Find The Singer

"We cannot find the singer.
We've searched and all agree.
He's gone, his cloak on river bank
His lyre beside a tree."

One by one they nodded, said,
"His recent songs were sad,
But once they kept us dancing,
Full of life, so warm and glad."

They never knew the sorrow,
That the singer bore within,
The sad dreams that beset him,
Not betrayed by happy grin.

Year by year the darkness grew
His Muse dimmed and went away,
Light and color faded slowly
'Til he only saw in gray.

Still he sang for other's gladness,
As his happiness grew dim,
Hastened by the knowledge,
That no one sang for him.

Then came the day the singer
No longer could be found,
Just his lyre beside a tree,
His coat upon the ground.

If you enjoy a singer's song,
Accept it and be glad.
Just remember that the singer's heart,
Might within be dark and sad.

One thing that may give happiness,
To a soul that's growing dim,
Is knowing that somewhere someone,
May sing a song for him.

by Donovan Baldwin
Oct 7, 2016

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We Cannot Find The Singer - An Original Poem by Donovan Baldwin
Page Updated 10:17 AM Friday 10/7/2016