For My Guitar (Singin’ Wood)
©2013 Stephen K. Roberts
A tree grows strong,
By taking what’s below and,
Moving it along,
Up into the light,
Where it can see the dawn,
Bridging ground and sky as it is formed.
I take my guitar and play the prairie,
I take my guitar and play the shield,
I take my guitar and play the mountain,
I take my guitar and play each wave against each shore,
That’s what this singin’ wood is for.
A tree stands tall,
Listening through the wind,
To one and all,
Stories find their way,
From every port of call,
Every tavern, every legion hall.
Birds take to the sky,
Marks those about to die.
A tree’s brought down,
Chopped and cut, the pieces,
Passed all around,
A practiced hand takes care,
To shape some for its sound,
Given strings its voice is finally found,
Given strings its voice is finally found.
(Note: In the next post I’ll be discussing the songwriting process for this song)