Among the trees and summer’s breeze,
I heard a lovely tune.
I found a nook beside the brook
and sat that afternoon.
The music heard had not a word,
a haunting melody.
But soon the song was loud and strong
in ghostly harmony.
I looked around. What made this sound
that plays for me alone?
‘Twas nothing weird when he appeared
upon a mossy stone.
With flute in hand, he raised to stand,
and bowed with courtly flair.
Then, he was gone, the curtain drawn,
and vanished in thin air.
I’ll not forget – I’ll ne’er forget –
the twinkle in his eyes.
I’ve not a clue of what or who.
He left me to surmise.
These passing years, my heart still hears
his song and sees his face.
Before I die, I hope that I
can find again this place.
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