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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Other · #1864460
This is a poem about the wee morning hours...
Shhhh...be quiet, as not to wake
The sleeping beings upstairs.
Oh, but it is so hard these days
To just continue with prayers.

I need to play my guitar,
That grand stringed instrument mine -
I am only a beginner, yet
The knowledge is something in mind.

I know it is only four o'clock
In the morning, still dark,
But my soul needs some sustenance
As the singing of the lark...

Ah, I hear footsteps upstairs!
I believe that authorizes me
To play out to my heart's content
With my guitar on my knee!

Yes, praise the Lord!
Someone is awake!
I can finally practice my fingerings
With soothing I can take!
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