The Mending Tree

It seemed the ole guitar had seen it’s day
After one more ride
On the many cold, calloused, bumpy, winter nights
Holding out against the turbulence, as long as it could
The storm was brewing and snapped the bell
Made of wood and boundaries
Maybe It held on a tad too tight
Before It grew a crack, a canyon deep
I looked upon it’s sad sad state
A salve, a luthiers doctoring hand
Fashioned anew with the glue
A bright new song of Jesus love rings out
At the end of the line, from that very same bridge; the sun broke through it’s maple wood curled
A new sound stage, had now unfurled
I never was good at saying goodbye
The mended bell…
Always will be
Kelly S Griswold

Leave a Reply