The Guitar
The guitar sat in the corner of the room. It had been there among the furnishings for a very long time. Strangely though, it gathered no dust. Now and again one could faintly hear the strings hum a distant and sorrowful melody. What beautiful harmony could have been if only someone had picked up that guitar and perhaps sung along. But there sits the guitar, amid the other objects, not really alone, but nonetheless lonely in its own way.
