When fingertips grip with grief's amusing
And sorrow sweep the mind oppressed
Let music play my Cypress singing
To speed new sounds of chorded quest.
For if your heart be suffering
Let music be your gift to bring.
In joyous times of thriving sway
No woe weighs heavy on my mind.
Her silver strings in my relief shall play
A slick, subtle song in a charming kind
Of music; when words will speak no more
but ah, in the music, with her I most adore.
What heavenly gifted masters of mind
Have played her kind, and strung her ships
The music gods once left behind
In glory played the suffering grip
With strings that man and beast have moved
What wretch am I to shun your Blues?
Wednesday, March 10, 2021
Topic(s) of this poem: guitar,music