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.