My Moma`s old guitar...

Text:

© WanHu
I was born out in the foothills of the snowy Rocky Mountains
Our Mommy kept her guitar by her bed
Only six or seven months went by, I never stopped to count them
By the time first summer’s been and gone, my Mommy, she was dead.

They carried me across the sea in the overhead compartment
Of a DC9, and I travelled fine, my Dad and sisters said
My Mom’s guitar left the hold
Marked Fragile and Important
The baggage handlers’ expertise
The best in all of Scotland
You can guess the rest. Life is a test.

And when I grew into a man, I held the guitar in my hand, this broken wood from a foreign land just needs some nails and glue. I’d never fixed a guitar before, but ther’s youtube videos galore, now it’s good enough for the country songs my Momma used to sing. Ridiculous tear-jerkers, the lot of ‘em.

W Ian Young (WanHu) June 2017