The Gift I Was Given

Guitar is a gift,

Was a gift.

Playing until my fingers were red,

Eating mayonnaise on bread.

 

Guitar hurt,

Guitar told my story,

Guitar sang,

And played.

 

The guitar still does,

I still play,

Day by day,

With a smile on my face,

The callouses almost

Smiling back at me.

 

I didn’t regret my decision.

It feels good when you make a good decision.

 

Six years have passed me by,

With great haste,

And I wonder where it all went.

 

Playing A Clare de la Lune,

And singing along to the Beatles all seems like yesterday,

But my hands haven’t played those notes in so long.

 

And I won’t ever stop learning,

Yearning to know more.

This poem is about: 
Me

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