The Fiddler's Song

She's at it again
Sitting there on my roof
That damned fiddler, stringing together a perfect combination of notes
God in heaven, what have I done
to deserve this cursed blessing?

I could turn and walk away
I could go in my house without a look at her
yet I find myself seated
Rooted to the spot
Listening to her song
Day and night the fiddler sits there, playing to her heart's content
My family, they do not know she exists
but I know she is always there

Her bow glides across the strings and
her long, sorrowful notes linger in the air
I envy her
How I envy her
she doesn't work, eat, sleep, as I do
She simply plays
on and on

Perhaps she really doesn't exist
she never plays for herself, you see
She plays for the world, for all of mankind
for every man, woman, and child that ever lived
for sorrows and troubles, for happy times
Her songs are joyous and sad
loud and so soft
angry and passionate, and yet each note so gentle
To listen to her is to hear emotion

Me, I work
I labor, I slave, to put bread on the table
My days are filled with endless tasks
My nights, I slumber so deeply I might be dead
Yet every time I can, I find a chance
to break away
to escape
To sit in the grass in front of my house
and listen to a fiddler playing on my roof
who is always there, whenever I look for her

Her song halts momentarily
jolting me from my thoughts
I lift my head and look at her
See? She's at it again
descending the ladder with a cheeky smile for me
She stands graceful and upright on my level, now
A devilish wink, a tip of her cap
and her instrument is fitted snugly under her chin

She begins to play a cheerful tune
Her graceful feet take up the steps of the song
and now the fiddler is whirling and dancing, grinning at me
She's done this before
She knows how it ends
Before long I'll be dancing with her like a drunken fool

The fiddler plays for everyone but herself, you see
A song for each man, woman, and child, she has
My God, how rarely does she play this song
how rarely does she dance
But when she does, I cannot help myself
to dance with her is my greatest pleasure

For you see, the fiddler dances
only when she plays her most joyous song...
That is the song she plays for me.


Author's note- There are a few things I have to say to the readers before I end this. First of all, this poem is based on the wondeful play Fiddler on the Roof. I strongly encourage my readers to see this play if they haven't already. It's a truly great story about community, family, and the human spirit in the face of the most trying obstacles.
The fiddler on the roof is actually more a symbol than a real person in the play. The fiddler sits in a precarious position on a rooftop and plays despite the danger of falling. She is a symbol of optimism and bravery because she plays unfailingly when the world is falling to pieces.
There is one more thing I should make light of. In this poem, I portray the fiddler as female although she is most likely considered a male by most who see the play and know about the fiddler's role. In the version I saw, the fiddler was played by a girl who fit the role perfectly, which is why I always think of the fiddler as female. I hope my readers don't have any problem with this.

Review please! Thanks for reading.