Ode to guitar (2)

Ode to Guitar The flow of music is a natural thing, Like the crack of lightning or the jet of a spring. Ripping through the air with a monstrous roar, Spewing forth into the sky and crashing on shore. There are many things that man has made To bring forth this power, this sweet tirade. Pianos, violas, horns, flutes and drums But just one comes close to that incredible hum, Only the Guitar! It explodes in purity like the rising moon. Bright white light and a melodious tune Spew forth as the guitar plays each grinding riff And like the suns brother it is not stiff. One day it is full the next it is but a sliver. For there is no one thing the guitar delivers! The strings are as sandpaper to the untrained finger Grinding down the skin, till only bone and muscle linger. But what is left is a smooth, fine piece of work Like the wood of a carpenter and his satisfied smirk, When the job is done and the song is writ, The ear and it are a perfect fit. The guitar is merely an extension of my arms With all of my wit and twice the charm Its products are impetuous and never trash it is sleek and alluring as an upturned lash. There are butfew things in life I’d want, If I had a guitar and a song to flaunt!