here by himself
alone
unassuming
no band
just him and his
finicky guitar
and he waits/listens
‘til it’s his turn
and then with a voice
sweet as strawberries
and a song that reaches for the
ripest best truths
he moulds an atmosphere
of strong trees swaying in the wind
leaves rustling
and shade and sun alternating
until pact is formed
between listener and singer
an understanding of the delicateness
of life alone in a peopled world
No comments:
Post a Comment