Echoes of a Mandolin

Stirring the warm May breeze,
a mandolin sings of magnolias
newly bloomed; it hums the sky
a soft cerulean, the grass
rich emerald green.

Soon summer will steal
this peaceful scene, yet an open
window will find the mandolin
still singing. Come autumn,
beneath a slanting sun,

When skies darken with a hint
of winter’s gloom, it will bring
the scent of pines into this room.
It is not the seasons that make
its moving song:

The mandolin would be a silent thing,
its voice soon abandoned, but it lives
and breathes such melody
thanks to the maestro’s
loving hand.




2 thoughts on “Echoes of a Mandolin

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