Here I sit in the Sobro Cafe
listening to the notes
reverberating off the walls
of the Country Music Hall Of Fame.
Ghostly echoes serenading the heart
with the strings of the black guitar
caressed by the fingers
of the man dressed in black.
I feel the spirit of the music
in the resonating tones
a mixture of country, gospel and blues.
It speaks to me of Elvis,
the King of rock and roll;
and his gold Cadillac, his gyrating hips.
It whispers of the mellow voices
of Jim Reeves and Eddie Arnold.
I hear the heartbreaking tales
of love gone wrong, the joyful notes
of love recaptured, of love yearned for,
of love only dreamed about.
I see those pearly gates
in the soulful rendition
of 'Mansion Over The Hilltop,' and I think
that God must look down and smile.
Yet if these walls could speak,
I think they would speak through
the exquisite tones coaxed into being
with the strings of the black guitar
strummed by this man dressed in black.
And, I think this time and this place
would be about the closest thing there is
to being in a Country Heaven.
