In the quiet of the night, the guitar sings,
Its strings whisper tales of ancient kings.
Fingers dance across its wooden frame,
In each note, a story, never the same.

Echoes of dreams in the chords it weaves,
A symphony of heartache, love, and beliefs.
The melody flows like a gentle stream,
A bridge to memories, a portal to dreams.

Its body resonates with emotion deep,
In every strum, secrets softly seep.
The guitar, a voice for those without words,
An orchestra of feelings, silently heard.

Under the moon’s tender, silver light,
The guitar serenades the silent night.
With every touch, a new song is born,
A timeless connection, never forlorn.