In today's i-world, I have a
banjo in my housecoat pocket, along
with a willing flat picker,
responding with a boogie-woogie.
Then the mandolin like a
youth left behind brothers
makes a show, screamin',
hollerin', tremblin' up a
storm until Momma comes
bowin', the fiddle sweepin'
up nonsense as Dad
appears on the porch; he's
pickin', he's grinnin', and
all the neighbors of Foggy
Mountain come runnin'
to hear the night's Special.
TWW 2/14/16
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