A poem a day for a year #268

by Amy Turn Sharp


If I played the guitar this would be the moment I wrote you a song. Picked and plucked and strummed till something so beautiful came out of me. I'd stop you on the sidewalk or show up to your house and sing it out like a big old bird. Open up and just let it out. It would be the kind of song that made you wanna raise your hands, that made you wanna get spiritual. In a church or the backseat of a sedan. If you heard this song you'd wanna dance with me. You'd wanna rock and roll.