Friday, September 25, 2009


Old Friend;

Much more that steel and wood,

more than an empty box.

You are the beach and a younger man.

You are laughing,

and tears.

You are lovers and lullabies

and fears.

You are the dark deep woods

and sleepy nights,

steel strings and sore fingers

and a tired voice.

You are memories of

old friends

made fresh.

You are campfire nights

and smoke in my eyes,

and starflung skies.

You are protest and prayer,

patriotism and pain.

Sunshine and midnights and rain.

You taught children to sing and

raised voices in praise.

You welcomed

sticky fingers of

young African friends.

You filled quiet nights with tunes.

Your smooth mahogany neck

and scratched cedar top;

every nick, every wound -  a memory

of long ago times and far away friends.

Humid summer nights

and backporch blues.

You are folk songs and praise songs

and homegrown songs.

Some quickly forgotten and

some well worn.

You are forgiving

and kind and

when I am wrong

you are fine.

With you I can be lonesome

but never alone.

Never alone.

You are my

Old Friend.

1 comment:

Gloria (The Mamafamilias) said...

Well, said, my friend! I never mastered the guitar like my brother did, but all of us love to sit and listen or stand and dance when he plays. The "Humid summer nights and backporch blues" pretty much sums it up for us. I play the piano but one of my biggest dreams is to learn to play the fiddle. I do love the guitar, thanks!