Without a song or sound it lays waiting,
gathering dust,
in the right hands it could sound quite lovely,
to sing it must,
songs of happiness and of some despair,
very unjust
life sometimes is; death brought the great silence,
that is now a lingering odd presence.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tune from old guitar comes up to mind to give thrill. Very interesting sharing...10