Daniel
by
Jean Marie Roest
They might be carved from the same tree
Fused into one instrument,
My son and his guitar
Thrumming out music in the sunlight.
He holds his treasure intimately,
Braced against chest inside of right thigh,
Top of left thigh, and inside right elbow;
They might be carved of the same tree.
His hands pluck, stroke, press
Strings worthy of Segovia.
Profound absorption cloak the two,
Fused into one instrument.
Bent into the struggle to perfect a faulty phrase,
The golden curls hide his eyes
Lost in a world defined by music,
My son and his guitar.
I hear, all down the years, from the beginning,
His lesser instruments and painful hours
A little boy with aching fingers
Thrumming out music in the sunlight.
written by a guitarist's mother
....
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