Confederate Fiddle

[couchgrouch]

Confederate FiddleGranpa finished his story, then dozed off in his chairwell, I soon got bored, and as he snored I snuck around upstairsfound his gold antique clock, with the silver in-laid facein a cedar chest, by his roll-top desk was a leather violin casetime peeked over my shoulder, as I lifted that lidlittle did I know, resting with its bow was where hist'ry hida confederate fiddlehanded down by the hands of timea confederate fiddlehome to songs that were left behindthe dust of men from long agorosuns up the horsehair bowfor the confederate fiddlebefore I could touch it, I felt Granpa standin' thereI thought he'd yell, but he told a tale with a distant starehe said that handmade fiddle, belonged to his own granpahe'd saved it from harm, when yanks burned his farm in old Arkansaswhen he saw that thick black smoke, billow to a bloody moonthat proud farmer jumped, on a hick'ry stump and sawed a rebel tuneon the confederate fiddlehanded down by the hands of timea confederate fiddlehome to songs that were left behindthe dust of men from long agorosuns up the horsehair bowfor the confederate fiddleGranpa finished that story, made sure the case was closedmy eyes filled with tears, my roots felt so near and the room filled with ghostswell, that fiddle became mine, when Granpa passed awaynow sometimes at night, where hist'ry goes to hide I can hear someone playthe confederate fiddlehanded down by the hands of timea confederate fiddlehome to songs that were left behindthe dust of men from long agorosuns up the horsehair bowfor the confederate fiddle(c)2007 Robert George