In the corner
rarely used  
these days,

Once was my
strongest crutch.
Rounded wooden box,

A hole beneath
the metal strings
capture their vibration.

Though struggles  
staying in tune,
when it does...

Beautiful, harmonic
whispers flow,
timid and sweet.

Waiting patiently,
I should use
the wisdom offered.

A name of
a company  
once respected,

Long forgotten.
Like my father,
what remains:

The proud letters
unaware of time,
humble origins.

So I pick up
again and play.
Fingers find

Old homes.
Just tourists at
childhood streets.
  
Nostalgia  dances
on the sidewalk,
somber tease.

Youth played
with a vigor,
assertive​ and strong.

Now each note
stutters of hesitation,
fearing mistakes.

I've been better.
I started worse.
Nostalgia smiles regardless.

Sounds of wood
and metal continue
resonating in me.

I don’t remember  
every scale.
Still, I'll always

Know the major
lessons and minor
chords; ingrained.

He seems to be
proud of that.
proud of me.