Mandolin

They stand together as a forest

Harmonious in their movements

As they sway,

And tap their feet

In the same hypnotic rhythm.

They also stand free

Different as a birch to a pine,

Plucking away at their own strings

Making their own sound.

Each one hold the instrument

So close to their bellies,

Projecting such beauty

That you can reach out and touch

Like an apple on a limb

That is as ripe as their melodies.

Their notes mesh like branches,

The gorgeous masterpiece

Amongst the mountains.