Wooden Box

Wooden Box

A wooden box
with a long slender neck
whispered from a hollow center,
“Will you play me?”

Looking left then right,
in front and then behind—
No one was there but me.
Did I HEAR the wooden box
whisper, “Come play me?”

There it was again…”play me!”
Gently, I grasped the neck
mindful of the six slippery
strings longing to be caressed.
“Play me.”

Sitting on  an old tree stump,
I plucked what seemed a sturdy
vine~ “TWANG.”

The vibrations wove around tree branches,
cascaded through hanging leaves.
The sky seemed to reach down
and the sun held what became
a stage.

A pick in hand—
then another “TWANG”
—fingers danced between frets.

Birds chimed in
while insects made music
with their wings.

When the performance ended,
I picked up the wooden box.
Rising from the stump and 
walking beneath the stars,
I believe I heard the stump speak…

“I live on~~~thanks for playing me.”

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