When Daddy Plays His Fiddle

When quiet settles o’er the farm

     An’ night takes place uv day,

An’ all the stock is housed an’ fed,

An’ supper’s cleared away,

Then daddy takes his fiddle out,

     An’ tunes the E an’ A,

An’ then the G up with the D,

     An’ then he begins to play.

He plays a reel or jig or two,

     To git his fingers free,

To take the kinks out left by work,

     He says to ma an’ me.

An’ then he puts in longer strokes

     An’ lays his face hard o’er,

An’ plays on three strings at a time,

     An’ sometimes hits the four.

He cuts in deep upon the bass,

     An’ thunderstorms pass o’er,

An’ then he sails high on the E

     An’ clears the skies once more.

Now deep an’ loud, now soft an’ low,

     Life tremblin’ by a thread;

A dismal wail off in the night

     Where grave stones mark the dead.

Then daddy strikes a streak of hope,

     An’ sun breaks through the rain,

An’ then he strikes a martial air

     An’ marches home again.

No time, no tune, no written score,

     Jes’ somethin’ daddy plays,

The like of which wuz never heard

     In old or modern days.

He seems a different man whene’er

     His fiddle’s in his hand;

There is a bond between the two

     Thet’s hard to understand.

An’ ma she sits an’ knits away,

     An’ dreams her dreams uv old,

While daddy’s fiddle takes’em both

     Way off to lands uv gold.

No doubt they spy a shaded lane,

     An’ hear the song uv birds,

An’ see themselves, two lovers there,

     With hearts too full for words.

I’ve heard big bands an’ orchestras,

     Church organs and the rest,

But ez fur music frum the heart

     I like my daddy’s best.

Sept. 10, 1902