Dark Hour

37 strings
2 hands
Loneliness slips through these faded floorboards.
I hope that it never comes back.

Somehow your Mother Maybelle voice seeps into the
room and then into my skin.

You sing an old tune – one that is close to your
heart and one that you tried to teach me many
times but that I never quite learned.

Perhaps I shall plant roses and lilies come springtime.
Would you like that?

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