That Old Guitar of My Daddy's

In a shadowed nook where memories sleep, An old wooden guitar, its secrets to keep, A relic of joy, of laughter and tears, A symphony echoes, transcending the years. Once cradled in hands that have weathered the storm, A sturdy companion, a figure so warm, Each chord was a heartbeat, each note a sweet dream, And the songs woven softly would flow like a stream. Daddy was there with a lullaby's grace, When shadows took form, in the stillness of space, His fingers like whispers on grains polished fine, Brought life to the silence, made those guitar strings come to life. Oh, how the old walls embraced every note, As laughter and music on joy’s riverboat Carried us far, where the memories soar, In moments of solace, our souls danced for more. Yet time spins its web, and the music grows dim, The strings frayed and broken, but not the hymn, For deep in the closet, the spirit still plays, In the heart of that guitar, his essence will always stay. So, I gently unearth it, wipe off the dust, Feeling the warmth of his spirit adjust, With just a few strings, still, a hum fills the air, The unbroken rhythm of love’s gentle care. Someday I'll restore it, bring back every line, Let the songs of my father twist softly through time, Till then, in the silence, I hold what is true, The old guitar’s whispers, forever in view. For love never falters, it breathes with the sound, In the song of my daddy, where solace is found, And there, in the music, though shadows may blend, The echo of his laughter will never quite end. 2020