[tswish63]

Wrote this about 4 1/2 years ago, never did anything with it, so I thought I'd post it here.

TUNESMITH

Like th' blacksmith fashions iron, like th' woodright carves the oak,
Like a painter mixing colors, giving life with stroke;
A singer for the ages, a teller of th' times,
A tunesmith crafting melodies with rhythms and with rhymes.

There's wanderlust an' love that's lost, there's many tales to tell,
He makes his living spinning yarns and few have as well;
From trains out of Ontario to ships out on th' sea,
With wilderness scenarios an' tales of tragedy.

So all th' lovely ladies and ye drifters come on in,
Settle back an' lend an ear, th' minstrel will begin;
When all the sound is set just right, an' every string is tuned,
He'll strum a chord an' cast a spell and then he owns th' room.

So listen as he sings about the sun that's goin' down,
Wondrin' if his love is bein' true or creepin' 'round;

Ridin' down that hi'way in a carefree state of mind,
Out in Arizona, leave your troubles all behind;

Then it's early in th' morning and th' rain is all you see,
An' anyplace but where you are is where you wanna be;

The lamp's burnin' on the table as the snow begins to fall,
It sounds better than a thunderstorm in Cleveland after all;

He bleeds maple syrup, he's a true son of th' North,
Here's to the man, here's to the songs for everything they're worth;

An inspiration to us all, Orillia's favorite son,
A gentle, simple troubador when all is said an' done;
A true, blue-blooded troubador when all is said an' done.