| |
About This Poem
Five String Lament
I’m just a lonely banjo
hangin' on the wall
of a lonesome mountain cabin
as summer turns to fall.
I’m looking for a red hot picker,
hoping one will call,
I’m a five string banjo frettin’
don’t that just beat all?
The bachelor Forest Ranger
who lives here in this place,
is a man with grit and gumption
and a smile upon his face.
Oh, surely he is nice enough,
don’t get me wrong - you see -
he decided pluckin' banjo
was not his cup of tea.
So I pass away the hours
thinking of the time
that a bluegrass picking wizard
sent shivers up my spine.
I pine for couples dancing square
like they did in the olden days
when banjos, hicks and fiddles
chased the nights away.
I’m looking for a damn good picker
who’s inclined to set a spell,
who’ll grab the picks and give me licks
‘cause I’m living in a banjo hell.
I’m out of tune, my bridge is weak
but give me one more chance
lay me down some tight clawhammer
and I’ll lay you down some dance.
I remember all the good times
at some raucous county fair
playing with some good old boys
that was tearing up the air.
I’m just a lonely banjo
hanging on a wall,
for me the lack of frailing
is like a gallows call.
|