I saw a man this morning.
He was a scruffy fella, with a dark stubble and a cheeky grin.
Played the fiddle like his life was on the line, down in the depths of the Piccadilly tube station.
Watched him for a while.
His eyes were filled with passion, and he asked for no money, only the ears of the commuters.
He sang of long-lost loves and the open seas.
The Ides of March and small reveries.
And with his rhymes, he expertly plucked my heartstrings.
Our eyes met for but a second.
But I could see a world of stories in them.
And at that point…
I fell in love with the world again.
The little treasures,
passion, lust and happiness.
All in the fleeting words,
of the busker at Piccadilly Circus.
Inspired by Seth Lakeman and his fiddle.