These fiddle players come carrying instrumental persuasion to a most flabbergasting cause – grip your Guinness-lipped exteriors and hold off on the flummoxed quip a fair while

For this is undeniably why… They bring bountiful and merry curtailment aside truthful artistic endeavour, to the pause-for-fought-thought cause, to be sentimentally, pleasurably, mid-evening treasured

Play it again, please…
By surround-sound quietness
Naturally blessed whistle-stop amidst

Bow-string fingered, concentratedly pressed This – living, beating, refashioned from folklored-diction Thing

And then, the glory-teller takes his sweet, sweet toe-tapping time, guided by courteous silence breathing deep beneath, to feel this typically enhanced, brutally enthused rhythm

Instigated and radiated via salutary rhyme

They found the time of their prone own, setting themselves up with a tremendous fixation to meet him right by the collaborated middle
Where imaginative people go to clash and collide, frightfully gilded by an insurmountable passion which cannot but invitingly interfere, entrap the settled heart in another such bow
Caressed by these shushing fingers of forever devoted theirs

An accordion of metaphorical sorts, a pint-swilling nearby stood stranger’s life’s reconfigured and deliciously parcel-wrapped squeezebox supreme

And one whole town will hear it all when least suspected
Just you wait and listen…

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