Here's a guitar whose lines are lovely
the purfling jet black and green
the rose as well - both edged in white
striped maple back and sides
spruce top fine grained
frets ebony and bone
ebony pegs and rosewood bridge
no label only through the soundhole
Petitjean Paris

Its tones are rich with age - no marvel
given it's two hundred years
in early life its strings were gut
now nylon - stronger
but without the warmth

I have to wonder through what hands
it's travelled - clearly it's been well loved
small and light compared with modern
instruments its voice is helping me to hear
more clearly feel more deeply
the music of its time

Fernando Sor played a guitar
like this one - it was his music drew me
when I first set out
sixty-five years later it still moves me as much
or even more than then - his counterpoint
the lyric beauty of his lines
his balancing of strength and tender passion
have made his music my life study
and the consolation of my idle hours

To own and play an instrument
from Sor's own time
it is as if my life has circled
round again completing in its arc
a healing purpose beyond anything
I would have come to on my own

Now it's the guitar teaching my fingers
where all the subtle beauties lie
how to coax those gentle voices
to sing out clear across the centuries