The Guitar Man
By Quabben
What is that sound that reaches to me. See how it pleases with strains low and high. Who makes this music that’s lifting me up. Where does it come from to touch me like this. How can it sound like an angel choir. In all of my time I can remember no sound, That quite entertained me or made me so high. I could dance on a whisper or a crescendo so loud. I walked on the clouds with both feet on the ground. My heart beat could race then slow right down. Lost in the wonder of this nice sound. It’s the sound of the man with a twelve string guitar, Who knows how to play all the good songs. It’s the sound of the man with a twelve string guitar, Who cannot stop playing and never will. His job is to play and so play he still. Written March 9th, 2002 © on Mar 08 2002 09:20 PM PST 0 • 10
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"What is that sound that reaches to me...."