Saturday, December 30, 2006

Lyrically Reclined . . .

He doesn't exactly seranade me.

Yet it draws me just the same.

The sound of strings and sliding fingers casting the spell of sound echoed down the hallway.

Soon enough, I find myself curled nearby, in a comfortable spot, engaging my mind while the muse pours forth, touching the memory of childhood past ~ a Dad and his guitar in a little pink house in America long ago.

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