The Third Leaf
This poem by Sorren shows a great sensitivity for the artist as a lonely caretaker.
In a little shop behind a door
A violin not played before
The master and his masterpiece now silent
The master eats his supper after dark
The master’s work is hard, his work is long
The master’s hands are kind, his hands are strong
His loving eyes, his loving heart remains within
Content, he cleans his brushes with tenderness
The master and his masterpiece now one
As a song begets its maker until it’s done
As the storm is spent and carried out to sea
The master breathes a sigh, his work complete
And the instrument that was prepared
Is now ready to be shared
In an aging city, no longer young
We no longer remember the fables sung
But the master and his masterpiece still listen
To the echoes of the strains within his soul
And the master feels vibrations, though his hands are old
And the master sympathizes with the music of the world
And in a little shop behind a door
Lay the memory of a life before
The master and his masterpiece remember
The master writes his memories into the song
On a stool the master sits in melancholic warmth
And plays his violin long into the gentle night
The instrument that was prepared
Is now ready to be shared