Ode to a Troubadour

Play young troubadour and sing.
Strum your lote of muted string.
What new stories will you bring?
What message rides your singing wings?

False wings once made to help man fly
Melted when they flew too high.
Their melodies now shattered lie
As echoes in the boundless sky.

You search for a lost melody
And find it not too far away.
From soul to fingertip you play
To bring your message in sweet roundelay.