Among the trees and summer’s breeze,

I heard a lovely tune.

I found a nook beside the brook

and sat that afternoon.

The music heard had not a word,

a haunting melody.

But soon the song was loud and strong

in ghostly harmony.

I looked around.   What made this sound

that plays for me alone?

‘Twas nothing weird when he appeared

upon a mossy stone.

With flute in hand, he raised to stand,

and bowed with courtly flair.

Then, he was gone, the curtain drawn,

and vanished in thin air.

I’ll not forget – I’ll ne’er forget –

the twinkle in his eyes.

I’ve not a clue of what or who.

He left me to surmise.

These passing years, my heart still hears

his song and sees his face.

Before I die, I hope that I

can find again this place.