Of Air

A pluck of a string, a pluck of a hair
Oh, as life goes, it becomes unfair
The sound of music in the air
I dread not to wait for a moment if I dare
To hear the sweet, sweet sound of the guitar string flair
For up, I go without a care
Flying through the frequent buzz, flipping wondering if it will be a must
Whatever may life come, I dare not know if the string will fly
Pluck as I go by and say, oh hi, to this life of mine

--Aira M., Adult