I Still Sing to You

 I still sing to you when I visit

I used to sing to you when I visited,

Sometimes you sang along

Once you told me the songs I was doing were boring.

And asked me to do songs that rocked.

When I played downstairs in your building, 

You were so proud.

Your daughter was playing and singing

With your building neighbors.

They weren’t people you talked to much,

But you told everyone who I was,

My daughter visiting from Memphis.

At some point, I wasn’t able to visit as often.

Then you had to move.

In the new place, I sang to you in your room,

And sometimes outside.

They didn’t have a piano for residents to play,

And no banjo player asking me if I knew 

Wabash Cannonball.

People walking by would sometimes stop and listen

You couldn’t see them

But I could.

They smiled and some sang or danced along

As they passed by.

I still sing to you when I visit.

I Iike to think you can hear me

And your toes are tapping

I like to think that you like the songs. 

I like to think that you heard me

When you couldn’t speak.

I like to think you knew who I was,

And were bursting with pride,

Telling yourself,

That’s my daughter.

I sit in the grass and sing

To you.

The air listens.

The breeze blows my hair into my eyes,

I know the strings are out of tune in the sunlight,

But I play anyway,

Not wanting to stop,

Until I play the right song to end on.

I sing to you,

And then put my ukulele back in it’s case,

I tell you that I have to go,

And walk away,

Quickly,

I so badly want to sit back down and play

One more song,

Which will lead to another,

And another.

I don’t want to stop 

Singing

To

You.

I still sing to you

Every time I sing.