PRS

PRS

By

Abby Wright

Placed in its stand, it waits for me

Dreaming of when, I will play upon thee

Its neck has bats, of pearl inlaid,

The gold keys tuned, before it is played

A beautiful color, of purple so true

Black is the neck, frets silver in hue

My hand tingles, as I place it on my lap

Pick in hand, I adjust my strap

Amplifier at ten, the maple wood beams

Humbuckers, the pickups, make the PRS scream