Love Song in Drop D

An old guitar,
Hanging on the wall,
Collecting dust.
Catching my eye.

Battered body,
Worn neck,
Dull frets.
Paint, far gone from luster.

Walnut stained with oil
From one set
Of unskilled fingers
After another.

This old guitar
Passed from person
To person, but
Without glory or fame.

Handed off for,
The same old reason:
"Out of tune
No matter what I do."

I see this stained body
Every crack catching the afternoon light
Dust, hanging in space.
Silence holding my breath.

Fighting my instincts, I breathe
"May I see?"
Large arms unfold accompanied by a nod
From the man behind the counter

He grasps the neck, gingerly
Shocking, from his size and strength.
Dust cascades in thin whisps, down,
As the battered body descendes from its gallows.

He sets it down,
Conscious of its age and wear
Still, it rests
Silent, it speaks

I take this old guitar
That has been stoic witness for too long
And left, battered and worn
Striking one chord

The beaten strings sing
A sad, minor tune
A ballad, pleading...
"Will you play? This song, without E?"