The 3 String Lute

An ancient instrument of yore
Played to please on Thursday
The variation is considerable
Strings plucked sometimes strummed
Hand on neck, fingers find the note
Ah, what music is created

Time stands still, the lute is silent
New York State of Mind throughout the room
Its verses reside in the lute of yesterday
Bringing in escape, opportunity, and adventure
The enhanced music brought by spirit and herb
The lute becomes alive again

A missing string will put off the enchantment
There is no spare to take its place
The string is found and the lute plays on
To rescue the needs, stories, and camaraderie
I’ll be sad when: The Day the Music Dies.