Rusted and bent
Was the old golden harp
For the auctioneer knew
The price would not be sharp

The very first bid
Went up when he hollered
"One maybe two
Maybe three little dollars"

"Going once, going twice,
SOLD!!!" he yelled
Now in a gray haired mans hand
It was held

The man walked away
Smiling with pride
As he sat down with his harp
On the dirty road side

He outstretched his hands
And put his fingers to magic
For now the old harp
Was no longer tragic

A beautiful tone
Chimed from the strings
So pure and soft
Like angel wings

All of the bidder
Stared at the man
Watching his fingers
On his magic hands

When he looked up
Everyone was around
Watching him play
And then he looked down

They all reached in their pockets
And pulled out wads of cash
Offering him thousands
All in just a flash

"This is not for sale my friends"
He said in a cheerful voice
"This is a sign of judgement,
So stop with all the noise"

He continued to play
That wonderful tune
For all of the surrounders
Until came the moon

When all the stars all showed
He began to walk away
With the harp in his hands
Not a word did he say

He walked over the hill
Until he was no longer in sight
Then he disappeared completely
Into the fading moonlight