A fiddle and a withered rose hang side by side on my wall<br /> The one is cracked, the other faded, but both have tales to recall.<br /> Of better days and simpler ways when cries of joy rang true<br /> And an old friend's fingers 'teased the strings' and the bow followed through.<br /> <br /> He's been gone for many a year, that fiddler loved by all<br /> We hardly ever hear his name, but his music we recall.<br /> Often his fiddle was played on the porch, where roses grew nearby<br /> And so I hung both on the wall, that's the reason why.<br /> <br /> And every time I see that fiddle holding hands with the rose,<br /> It brings back golden memories, so clearly no one knows.<br /> When his sad slow tunes brought a lump to your throat, and a teardrop to your eye.<br /> And tugged at the strings of your heart sometimes, enough to make you cry.<br /> <br /> Oh how he used to pack the hall, whenever he did play <br /> I can almost see those happy faces, though oh so far away.<br /> Hands did clap and toes did tap and at one of his final shows<br /> Onto the stage a young girl tossed the fiddler, one red rose.<br /> <br /> When the fiddler died he left behind his legend and his fame<br /> And when his fiddle was given to me, I promised I'd keep his name.<br /> In a special place upon my wall, in view for all to see<br /> The bow and the fiddle, and one red rose to the fiddler's memory.<br /> <br /> And when people see them hanging there, many a question showers<br /> And I answer them and tell them 'bout those happy bygone hours.<br /> I wrote this poem for a class of artist now so scarce and rare<br /> From a former time when people lived it seemed, without a care.<br /> <br /> So listen on a quiet night when the air is crisp and clear<br /> And maybe, if you try real hard, their music you will hear.<br /> May this bring back sweet memories to folks that fiddler knows<br /> And maybe even a smile or tear, for the fiddler and the rose.   Submitted By: NULL