In the quiet corners of a shadowed room,
A guitar rests, holding tales of the past,
Its strings, like whispers, stir the gloom,
Echoing dreams that forever last.

Fingers dance upon the frets, a ballet,
A melody born from the heart’s deep well,
Notes rise and fall, like waves in a bay,
Their secrets only the soul can tell.

The wood resonates with stories untold,
Of laughter, tears, and whispers of love,
Each strum, a thread of memories old,
Connecting earth to the heavens above.

As night drapes its cloak over the world,
The guitar sings under the stars’ gleam,
In its embrace, emotions unfurled,
A timeless dance, a musician’s dream.