MY GUITAR SITS IN THE STAND
WAITING TO BE IN MY HAND
MY GUITAR SPEAKS SOFTLY
WHEN I STRUM THE NOTES
TO WHAT THE GREAT ONES WROTE
MY GUITAR HELP ME SING
BEAUTIFUL WORDS WITH EVERY CHORD
AND EVERY STRING THAT I TOUCH
THAT WHY MY GUITAR MEAN SO MUCH
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem