Strings

I found an old guitar,
Up in the attic at my Mom’s.
She said it was my Grandpa’s.
He would play it on the lawn.

I never knew he had one.
I never knew he played.
Yet, I could almost hear him,
As I saw the strings were frayed.

I took it from the attic,
I had it cleaned and tuned.
I tried to learn to play it.
I wanted music to resume.

I wonder if he wrote a song.
I wonder what he played.
I’d like to sing it with him.
My memories ceased to fade.

When you’re listening to a concert,
Watching some now famous star,
You should think about his Grandpa.
And wonder if he played guitar.

 

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