Monroe the Mandolin Picker…
Monroe was a mandolin picker,
To the jams he often would go…
He charted his chords, rhymed all his words,
How fast his fingers could go!
He chopped with the best, never missing a rest…
Til smoke would come from his fingers…
Hot licks would emerge, in even a dirge,
And the legend of Bill still lingers…
Hornpipes and breakdowns, waltzes and strathspeys,
Tablature and playing by ear…
The locals all loved him, held no one above him,
To him they would all raise a beer!
Til one night, quite late, he was leaving a jam,
And walking the wooded way, too…
He spied a big bear, who also spied him,
And the chase of his life did ensue!
Bill ran through the creek and across several fields,
With the bear breathing right down his neck!
He ran up a hill, jumped over a log,
Looked behind him, the bear, for to check…
Just at that moment, a tree he did hit,
It knocked him complete-uh-ly out…
And when he awoke, it was these words he spoke,
As the stars spun around and about…
“Where, oh, where did the big bear go?”
“Thought for certain he’d catch up with me!”
“I never ran so hard in all of my life…”
“That is, til I met this here tree!”…
He picked himself up, his head being sore,
He stumbled, but steadied his gate…
Thanking the Lord, he did not forget,
He’d almost been by the bear, ate!
He came to his senses and realized at once,
Off in the distance he heard a musical din…
“Could it be?”, Monroe said to himself,
“That bear stole my good mandolin!”…
Now, that is the legend, the story it goes,
We’ll never know if it’s actually true…
But the words on his stone, speak a somber-ish tone,
From the tombstone and now here to you…
“Listen young fellas, and lasses beware…”
“Of the story I swear is so true…”
“The bear that chased and caught up with me…”
“Is standing right now behind you!”
Tom Arri, 1/10/2020
