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Poem

A carpenter’s daughter am I but I do so love music.
So I built myself a lap dulcimer 
of fine wild cherry and walnut;
I used my late Father’s old jigsaw,
cutting each plank into an elongated guitar shape.

Into the fingerboard, I measured, cut and hammered fret wire and carefully rasped away the roughened metal edges,
so I could play without any harm.

I sanded each one to a velvety caress, 
steamed wood, shaped, and clamped sides into place; 
a future musical vision, not just a typical hog fiddle but, 
a fine tranquilizing music box.  

On the top, I cut out flying birds and wood-burned, curly, swirling vines.  I glued it all together carefully;
making sure to wipe down all of the sides.

When it was dry, I varnished it and then I sanded more.  
So many layers brought out the woods luster.
No words explain the joy inside as my heartstrings did began to flutter.

Installing the pegs to hold the strings;
I carefully placed my screws then turning, turning carefully until they were solid there;  
I adhered my bridge to the top.

Upon it then, I placed my strings;
adjusting the bridge, and tuned it up.
Oh, glorious be, such celestial sound
as across the strings, I dragged my thumb.
Such a magnificent harmonic thing;
ah, the way those strings had rung.

Off to YouTube I did go, for lessons I knew I’d find;
and when I play my dulcimer, it’s serenity sublime!

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