In the corner,

There,

Is a six stringed guitar

With Venetian hips.

She is Sitka above,

And Ovangkol beneath,

A pre mixed mixture of coffee and creme.

Slender and freckled with Mother of Pearl,

Is her

long

dark

neck,

Framed with thin white borders.

She has sung the most beautiful songs,

And wept the most moving elegies,

It is covered in dust.