Old Couple's Song

A little boy wanders down the path,
his face painted with black and red festival spirit,
his eyes fixed to his feet.
He does not notice the girl not much older
than himself, her fiddle case open
in the grass, her halo of flowers falling
into her eyes as she evokes angels
with her music.

He does not see the tourists who pass,
anonymously drinking in the river Avon,
or the old couple who sit hand-in-hand
watching the children frolic through the grass,
marveling over painted faces and floating notes.
They lean back in their bench, admiring
the distant youthful bliss,
as the little boy wanders on.