In the quiet of the night, it sings a tune,
The guitar whispers under the silver moon.
Fingers dance across its wooden frame,
Each note a spark, a small, gentle flame.

Stories of old it softly tells,
In strums and chords, where memories dwell.
A melody of joy, of sorrow, and dreams,
Flowing like a river, in rhythmic streams.

The strings vibrate with a soulful sound,
Echoing heartbeats that abound.
Through every fret, a tale unfolds,
Of love, of loss, of secrets untold.

In the hands of the player, it comes alive,
The guitar, where passion and music thrive.
A symphony of life in each gentle strum,
A timeless art, forever young.