Untitled
Byron Hoot

Country love songs remind me
of what has been now is gone.
It’s the way the voice and guitar
synchronize, the words leading
or following so hard to know
if the words take the music
or the music the words to my ears
then heart.  The language is simple,
direct as though love songs demand
what other songs may not.  Of course,
at my age it’s easy to get sentimental,
to wallow in loss, not to see things –
especially matters of the heart – as
they are.  I hear that music that opens
the door of memory, walk through,
smile how good it feels, how foolish.