Guitar Song

The tree sings
To the sun, to the birds
It sings of bliss

And sorrow, as it bleeds

As it sits
Alone, warped, broken
It shivers, shakes, wails soundlessly
At its hollowed body; its frail skin

It listens for tree song
And hears none
It begs to sing again, it begs for its voice,
Stolen

Until the day
It is heard
And the child strokes the artificial strings
That were once a curse

The guitar sings
To the child, to the world
And it begs
To be played again.