The evening that Banjo Don came back to town,

the sun curtseyed in the west and nodded its approval

and smiled a boyish grin at the grand old man and his upturned frown;

the banjo acolytes, the notes all slightly out of tune and reluctant call

compared to the sound that their chosen master. Banjo Don

took to the streets and under a glowing sun

proved that the people had missed his sound, for no one can

play the strings with melodic ease or deliver a grin when playing for fun,

thought the citizens of old pain and glory, the sweetheart by the river.

The sound of olden times but fused with the urge to pray to the new

was enough to give even the anti-music fan a small resounding shiver

of expectation as Banjo Don loosened up his finger and as if on cue,

played to the citizens of old pain and glory, a song of melancholy

and songs of joy, songs of passion,

songs of Christmas, songs of ivy and holly

and other women he had known, who had robbed him some unlikely fashion,

of the strength to love another

and who in his frailer days preferred to drink alone,

to feel the sadness of what was missed and make a song for someone else to cover

but who would never play it right,

the way he could as a virtual unknown.

Banjo Dan only stopped in town the one night,

Old Pain and Glory would soon miss his easy going charm

and his grizzled looks, his bare physic and failing sight,

but there was no doubt whilst in town, he kept the people calm

as he sang those songs that people loved and shared

as they went about the daily chores,

his sentiment kept Pain and Glory sweet and showed he cared

as he stumbles from town to town, Banjo Don  will next play at yours.

Ian D. Hall 2015