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Posts Tagged ‘Ed DeWitt’

He built his own guitar

 dewitt-guitar  

      THE GUITAR MAN

 

When he was in his early teens

          With music in his soul

He little knew his first guitar

          Would stir in him, a goal

He found an old guitar one day

          Which he then built anew

He learned to play it with finesse

          And as his talents grew

He dreamt of hearing perfect tone

          He’d not be satisfied

Until he built his own guitar

          Or at least, until he tried

Pictured in his fertile mind

          Was perfect grain and tone

The best guitar that could be made

          And it would be his own

And he succeeded masterfully

          But could not stop at one

He’s dedicated to his craft

          With pride in each one done

And so he’s called Guitar Man

          He takes a piece of wood

And brings to life an instrument

          That’s incredibly good

Selecting only the finest wood

          Favoring what is rare

He lovingly shapes its contour

          Working with utmost care

He breathes new life into the wood

          With efforts to enhance

The natural pattern in the grain

          No detail left to chance

He sands, inlays, and polishes

          And last, he adds the strings

Then when he plays his masterpiece

          That guitar really sings

Musicians covet his guitars

          And come from near and far

To look at his exquisite work

          And buy a fine guitar

 

1/20/89    Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

 

Written for Ed (my brother)

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In honor of my brother, Ed

uncle-ed-with-guitar

SILENT STRINGS

 

There were mandolins and banjos

And guitars that he had played

But what he loved the best of all

Was a violin he’d made

 

His craftsmanship was perfect

He played them all with skill

Music filled his heart with joy

But now those strings are still

 

The violin lies silently

In its case upon a shelf

I’d take it out and make it sing

If I had his skill myself

 

But no one made it sing like him

The melodies so sweet

His bow caressed the strings with love

But the memory’s bittersweet

 

For he has gone where Angels sing

His music left behind

Yet, I still hear those sweet refrains

But only in my mind

 

Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck        7/1/03

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