My fingers hold the pick ever so soft,

           I feel my pulse quicken as I strum down the guitar strings

          My fingers vibrate,

          My chest vibrates,

          My soul is filled with the wonderful sound of music.

          I change to the next fret,

         Fingers burning from playing,

         Mind toasted form concentrating,

         I pull through.

         My guitar is my best friend,

        It never turns it's back on me,

        My guitar is named after my grandmother, Mardell, who is long gone.

        Who do I play for?

        Me.

        Jesus.

        My parents.

        My Mardell.