On cold paving stones,
Strings and wood begin to hum,
Glasgow’s vibrant soul.
Two young lads with caps and songs,
Bring a warmth to grey-skied days.

Locals pause their stride,
Tourists smile and catch the beat,
Captivated now.
Laughter mingles with the chords,
As the city stops to hear.

Silver falls like rain,
Coins that clatter in the case,
Reward for the craft.
Street-born magic, pure and bold,
Lighting up the Buchanan.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)