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Tuesdays with Garth… We're on a Roll!

 

It’s Doc Mehl’s new weekly feature:  TUESDAYS WITH GARTH!  I told Garth Brooks he could perform some of my poems on stage… and he’s really taking it seriously.  These photos show Garth and me both performing… “The Music Box.”  You rock, Garth. 

 

The Music Box                        

Copyright 9-2006     Al “Doc” Mehl


A tribe of white men gathered ’round a fire one evening with no breeze.
They were completely unaware there was a red man in the trees.

Under a canopy of scrub oak, he lay close against the ground,
And though he couldn’t see the cowboys, he could hear their every sound.

He couldn’t understand their language or the things that they were sayin’,
But he tipped one ear to hear... some kinda music box start playin’.

Echoed sounds of twanging strings held him suspended in a trance,
And he could hear the cowboys sing, and he imagined how they’d dance.

When all the white men fin’lly went to sleep, the red man stayed awake,
And through the night, he tried to plan the morning gamble that he’d take.

At dawn the cowboys saddled up, to maybe go out findin’ strays.
The red man crept into the camp.  One weathered tarp he slowly raised...

A flat and shiny box of wood, carved extra smooth, is what he found;
It had a hole, like for a bird, and all the edges were carved round.

It had a long shaft, like his bow, some silver beads out on the end,
And it was strung up six times over, but the shaft still didn’t bend.

At night, he’d heard somebody play it, but he never saw the man,
And so he didn’t really know just how to touch it with his hand.

He held that box up to the ear that heard the music in the night,
He pressed the strings down with his left hand, and he never used his right.

Then, with the use of one hand only, he began to make it sing,
And soon an ancient tribal chant was comin’ out the opening.

And then the red man slipped away before the cowboys wandered back,
He nimbly leapt from stone to stone, and though his feet would leave no track,

He left his song there in the strings; he left his spirit in the box.
And every time the white man plays it now… the red man’s spirit talks.

 

(Find Doc Mehl at www.Facebook.com/DocMehl , and also at www.docmehl.com .)

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