As I wander the streets
enshrouded with fog,
faint sounds come to haunt me,
the steps of a dog.
Then out of the grey,
comes as clear as a bell,
a beacon to bring me
to where I am well.
The haunting, sweet strains
of a rich violin.
It beckons so strongly,
I must follow it in.
The tune is not known,
but the player must be.
I've heard them before,
it seems, close to me.
As I follow the song,
there revealed is a man.
How I had mistaken him,
I can't understand.
He glanced up as I entered
and greeted me well,
"Good evening, there, Russell.
Have you a story to tell?"