The Place We All Try Once Again - By Dan'l MclLhenny

Harry had an ache in his hands 

Where it had come from . . . 

He was not aware, it was just there 

Right now, holy cow, right now and how! 

The ache was in Harry’s hands 

 

A fiddler fiddles, a whittler whittles, 

A scribbler scribbles according to Muir 

Pure expression can pour out in passion 

Once all the practicing study is done 

One note follows another as . . . 

The knife to the wood makes the image appear 

Clear and concise inking a letter, better remember 

‘I’ve used glorious twice - Ahh, but . . . ‘tis such a nice word!’ 

Fiddlesticks, whittle chips and wadded-up paper 

Broken strings, dullish things and wordslinger flings 

Lead to the place we all try once again 

Until it becomes a gift for a friend 

 

Harry had an ache in his hands 

Where it had come from . . . 

He was not aware, it was just there 

Right now, holy cow, right now and how! 

The ache was in Harry’s hands

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