I miss the crowds that surge like waves
On sun scorched farmland in dips and valleys
That are otherwise lost to the human eye.
And so I’ve taken to dragging my milk crate
And an old guitar to the park by my home.
People will stare in bemused satisfaction
As I climb on my stage and clear my throat.
I may not be able to draw in a crowd
Like Bruno or Britney in stadium glory
But my rawest of voices and deepest of words
Catches on minds and hooks into hearts
And I’m glad that my concert for three or four people
Has brought out some joy in a world that is needing
That belonging that music can powerfully bring.