In summer once
a drum built from maple scraps
brass steel and rawhide
an escape from lonely hours
without connection
Without rhythm found form
in a gesture sincere
now long tucked away
behind a coat rack in my father’s study
In summer once
a drum built from maple scraps
brass steel and rawhide
an escape from lonely hours
without connection
Without rhythm found form
in a gesture sincere
now long tucked away
behind a coat rack in my father’s study