The Ghost of Happiness in
Fiddler’s Pond
The local water hole became
A legend once he drowned.
A body never floated up.
A fiddle case was found.
It is a fable some maintain.
Why would there be a ghost?
A wagon dropped its load in
pond
And then recovered most.
The tourists go on local
walk.
The skeptics say they’re
conned.
Believers know the truth
about
The haunted Fiddler’s Pond.
At night, they hear his music
play
A ballad quite beyond
The reach of mortal
hands. The song,
A dirge in Fiddler’s Pond.
This fiddler had a morning
job.
The player cobbled shoes.
At night, the virtuoso tapped
The transcendental muse.
Adults and children speak
about
The olden clothes he donned.
For over hundred years, he
has
Been haunting Fiddler’s Pond.
The folks are scared to try
to fish.
They hear the devil spawned
The evil goings-on
In modern Fiddler’s Pond.
A party searched for proof,
but saw
A lonely overgrown frond.
It was another overblown
Attempt to save the pond.
The town had longed to fill
the hole.
The spirit would respond
By serenading mayor’s wife.
She loved attractive pond.
Her husband was consumed with
job.
He tried to pass a bond.
He had his business matters
wrong
And hated Fiddler’s Pond.
The contributors held a
roast.
A toaster praised campaign.
He substituted sparkling
juice
For costly chilled champagne.
The hall was lit by
candlesticks.
The orange and eerie glow
Enhanced by phantom music
played
In flicker’s afterglow.
Obnoxious cocky spirit played
The couple’s wedding song.
The mayor’s wife adored the
tune.
It made them get along.
At college, mayor met his
wife,
A genius beauty queen.
Attending many opera dates,
They sat in mezzanine.
The fiddle player dreamed
about
The preacher’s wife, a
blonde.
He dared to sing a song to
her.
They skinnydipped in pond.
He had to find a secret way
To quickly correspond.
With letter, scarlet blush
would stop
Illicit passion pond.
Her husband read the paper,
drank
His coffee, sighed, and
yawned.
He had confession scheduled
soon.
He took a walk by pond.
He searched for sermon’s
topic, saw
A sinful vagabond.
Who knew that inspiration
flows
In worthless stagnant pond?
He read his Bible, stayed in
shade.
He witnessed ducklings swim.
He had condemned the violin
Except to play a hymn.
His wife began to plan a
lunch
To satisfy gourmand.
She brought a picnic basket
full
Of wine and cheese to pond.
Her lover’s appetite was
light,
Of fancy never fond.
From water, silver fish
escaped,
A light above the pond.
The couple dreamed about a
way
To swiftly flee, abscond
From meddling melancholy
town.
They skipped a stone on pond.
The purpled pair produced a
plan,
But wisdom quickly dawned.
The waiting game like time
delayed
Reprints across the pond.
Returning home, she baked a
cake.
The quiet interlude,
A peace she found through
batter mix:
The scent of devil’s food.
The pastor heard about a man
Who had a fiddle pawned.
He also heard the gossip made
A ghost in Fiddler’s Pond!
©2015 Ryan Tilley
About the Author Ryan Tilley
Ryan Tilley was born in New Orleans, grew up in Baton
Rouge, and was graduated from LSU. He lives in central Florida with his
wife, son, and dog. Ryan has been writing poetry about death and rebirth
in rhyme and meter for 30 years and composed the sequel to The Raven on
February 2, 2006 while being unaware at that time of the significance of
February 2, 1847 in Poe family history. His only published book is A
Prophet's Burden: The Raven Returns.
