When the light is strong,
There is always darkness.
But the little girl, sitting
On the porch,
Hair braided
To match the rumpled red locks of her doll,
Doesn't give it thought.
Instead, she listens,
Listens to the quiet guitar
Being played softly,
Ever so softly,
With melodies forming between sour notes,
And chords that are certainly out of tune;
But the little girl, sitting
On the porch,
Doesn't much care,
Humming the sweet, sad song out of time,
Never noticing the bright patch of
Sunlight
She's managed
To land herself in.

It is only when the music is gone,
To be replaced by a funeral procession,
And her mother's guitar
Locked away
That she finally sees the shadows
That were always
Surrounding her.