My hungry spirit feasts upon the strains
That emanate from places in my soul.
These notes from Paradise I can't control,
Ability to translate simply wanes.
My talents undeveloped, the remains
Of wasted time that from myself I stole.
The keys unpounded, strings unplucked, my goal
Elusive, still my love for it remains.
Yet can arthritic fingers still unlearn
Lethargic habits gathered by the way.
The scales are calling, there I must return
And trace the modes I know I can discern.
Along my fretboard I must start today,
No more excuse, for this my heart does yearn.
Frank Garnick