Fretwork

Does the rose, as petal falls,

Beauty then diminishes?

Fretwork and fingerboards,

Wait for her to finish.

For what is said, the truth told none,

Never must be told.

For you may ask me what the secret is,

The secret truth, untold.

For rainbows and candyfloss,

By certainty must fall.

And in strings and pretty things,

The truth be made for all.

For the rose, she spin a web

A carpet of pure gold.

Entrapment by the dollar bill,

It is only souls you sold.

Yet then she continues on,

The journey, is not dead,

In arpeggios and capos,

The world remembers what you said.