Mandolin Spring
I love an ardent mandolin,
insistent as the Spring,
trilling high as cherubs above
stolid notes treading the towpath
over the rural landscape
in a Kentucky bluegrass fresco.
Usually that big fellow in the band
cherishes it against his chest,
holding and loving it within his big mitts
as it trills above the long, lonesome sound.
The strings tremble of faint love
so persistent… within the beastly heart.
Little tinkles of redemption,
while all the other instruments endure.
This poem is taken from Porches / The River Town Poems of Carl Nelson To see more of this author’s work visit Magic Bean Books at https:magicbeanbooks.co