The Guitar Girl mine*

Whence You sit quiet,

Putting your face on the fretboard top,
Just near those tuning knobs,
Looking up, thinking something,
As if you would soon
Come up with a tune,
A music, a boon,
For me, always looking at You,
The Guitar Girl mine,

With Thy aura getting mixed
With the sunshine falling upon Thou
From behind, like a halo,
As your face turn up wards a bit,
Upon the fretboard head, near the knobs,
As you keep your face, Beauty of Peace, so soft,

i, just look at you,
Forgetting if it was that Guitarist who
I called Johnny old,
Who strummed for mere pennies,
And her daughter, ill,
Art Thou His offspring
For nobody ever can
Have such a Beauty of a face
And that peace of Innocence,
With a halo over head ,
Other than Johnny's genes,
You canst be so supple and bright,
You canst be so not so, 

Ever you the wonderous ,

So i, look at you,
As oft, a song writer looks,
Searching for a perfect tune,
To adjust and place, his words,
Not oft delivered and said,

O how The Guitar Girl,
With you, how , see, a poem i make. (*Note: loosely based on the painting attached, done jointly by Michael and Inessa Garmash, courtesy : Alex Artista, Musica Pittura e Dintorni.

#Johnnynhissicklydaughter : a poem/scribble written by me, many months ago.
Johnny is the character of a Guitarist as created by me , in that particular poem/scribbling as mentioned.)