A Pleasant Plucker's Mate

When tears are plucking out my empty sighs My loyal friend still sits upon my wanting thighs And waits my hand without no how’s and whys As his taut echoes lift me to the skies. Even if my songs are lonely and sad The more I strum the less I feel so bad My guitar, travels with me o’er this land And always there to simply take my hand In this union my heart’s singing, glad My strumming days weren’t just another fad. On my journey my voice never denies In joyful songs of nature’s wondrous highs The truth of love on which my heart relies And loneliness once more has lost its ties.