Mandolin

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Round back bent and broken
From years of nightly use.
Inlays missing, dusty,
rusty from all the neglect and abuse.

Strings that are still and silent,
out of tune, played no more.
Once a master stroked you,
coerced the sound to soar.

The songs that lie encased,
inside your wooden heart,
These songs were my beginninig,
where I got my start.

My grandfather once held you,
just like he once held me.
And when he touched our heart string,
set both our sprits free.

When I hold you now I know,
that I am free to know,
where eagles fly, where mill wheels turn,
where'er I want to go.

Thank you granpa for this gift,
your favorite mandolin.
I'll use it-while I'm here,
and then pass it on again!

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OUR FAVORITE LINKS

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KOREA	KOREA PHOTOS
KOREA PHOTOS 2	KOREA PHOTOS 3