Sounds

Sounds

The Yamaha that summer money
Bought two seasons and a half ago
Rests easy on her knee, a foot tucked beneath
As she strums a bright chord
Then sings, you be you and I’ll be me,
And that’s all I ever wanted for her.
Mind if I play another one?
As if she has to ask.
She can play for me
As long as the music lasts.

By | 2016-09-26T15:49:15+00:00 September 26th, 2016|Bad Poems|0 Comments

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