by RW Spisak

The flute man is free
He dared to criticize Did he?
The righty warriors lordly scorn

Deterred him not one turn
Called the flute man For compassion
Called he for sympathy
Spurned by minions lowly
He urged consideration of the nations troubles
envisioned

And for his efforts was pinioned
by "the powerful's" servants doubles vision

Though with lies and scurrilous
Charges freight weighted they,
his purposes
Made solid stoney stood he

His comrades rallied round
As he stood that lonely ground

Voices roundly raised came
to vibrant sing in praise his song

The court two stood in auspicious awe
was damned rightly stunned
At the crowd of voices an hundred and one
loud upraised

Who’d come, the crowd conveyed his name’s esteem
and at its high tide turned fame
More friends than George Bailey’s bounties found and Stayed they,
in his honor ’gainst the cruelly conned and crush'ed Complaints condemned.

Thus uplifted by friends his gentle ways
told they many to defend. This man of gold
No savory fame sought he

Just the cause of compassion fought he-
in all the tossed message lost
Against they threw their little lies,
These impudent spies despise decrying his simple gentle truth
Loudly scorning they, the activist might as well denounce the rising tide,

in their ranky ship of lies
Turn the burning flame of truth from it’s righty mighty road.
He stood and triumphant played his notes of truth
amidst the swirling symphony of friends Who's truth
stands beside the Man
he many friends defends
his noble valor
sending forth aloud n flutey flight the truth.