The long solid neck, br With flowing, refinded strings. br A base of cherry; finished wood. br Defined in figure, exquisite; br Among other things. br Shaped with a curve, br Set down in my lap. br I picked up my guitar, br And made my fingers tap. br A symphony from, br Those melodic strings. br Part of my hearts amour. br My fingers graze along, br This coppery and bronze decor. br A roughness they slide. br Along the ends; br Roughness on my fingertips. br A sliding; an arry of refreshing sounds. br One that echos into the bottem, br And emerges to astound. br My arm embraces the frame work, br A base of refined finished wood. br Tuned to a sound, br Like a guitar should. br My fingers cradle those melodic stings. br The light strum of my hand, br Makes music; br The guitar sings. br From the mouth of a speaker. br Out comes a tune. br With a cadence strum. br Fingers pressed down, br Out the music comes. br A symphony from, br This rhythmic harmony. br A tone in my soul. br A note that's always been apart of me. br A feeling I once knew. br I recall, a sound in the distance. br A beauty that plays so smooth. br Shaped with a curve, br Set down in my lap; br I picked up my guitar. br It slowly starts to come back. br That feeling, I'll never forget. br I recall, a sound not so far. br I recall, the feeling that day; br The day I picked up my beloved guitar.