He was, after all, an outcast,
born without choice or request.
There was no decision or option
beyond his unbidden bequest.
He knew from quite young he was different
in ways that the dull eye could see
and try, though he did, to impeach it
he held none but a birthright decree.
In his family of birth unaccepted,
he learned to adapt and pretend...
playing their tune on their fiddle
learned to sell his soul to amend.
Until came the day that he'd dreaded
A day that he knew would arrive,
When the fiddle he played could not render
and their tune, could no longer contrive.
With a handful of sorrow, yet empty,
he set out to make his own way...
to purchase his own bow and fiddle
and write his own music to play.
He bought back his soul with his freedom,
shook the dust from his heels and moved on.
With a tear and his fiddle as company,
he played long into the dawn.
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