Unsung Melody

Playing my guitar in the sun
swinging back and forth
singing with pollen in my throat
staring at the back porch
and a little red wagon filled with toys
where my children never play
where a woman never listens
will they be there when the song is through?
because my instincts are still strong
my convictions have always been
but she has never been
and my children have never played
my hair is growing bristled
the lines in my face growing deeper
my fingers press the fingerboard harder
my songs are lasting longer
fallen tree limbs lie on the ground
and the birds are scattering
as echoes fill the woods
it must be all the screaming