My mom took a poetry-writing class and came up with this winner.
It reminds me how she paid for guitar lessons for me and was so encouraging and supportive along the way. I hope you enjoy it. If there's a lesson to be had here, it's to do with the value of having someone rooting for you.

By Jean Marie Roest

They might be carved from the same tree
Fused into one instrument,
My son and his guitar
Thrumming out music in the sunlight.

He holds his treasure intimately,
Braced against chest inside of right thigh,
Top of left thigh, and inside right elbow;
They might be carved of the same tree.

His hands pluck, stroke, press
Strings worthy of Segovia.
Profound absorption cloak the two,
Fused into one instrument.

Bent into the struggle to perfect a faulty phrase,
The golden curls hide his eyes 
Lost in a world defined by music,
My son and his guitar.

I hear, all down the years, from the beginning,
His lesser instruments and painful hours
A little boy with aching fingers
Thrumming out music in the sunlight.
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