I'm Her Vine


When I see her, my heart sinks to my feet.

Her sound is like a Heaven praise from 'bove.

From her strength, Satan could never defeat,

Her love, not like a weakish morning dove,


But like God's neverending, freeing love!

Her strings, strong as the mighty Poseidon,

Her body was, by man, made very tough,

when she is played, she roars like a lion,


Her sound, rare but popular, like Bidon.

Without her, i'm in terrified silence.

As I touch her neck, life becomes whiton'd.

She shelters me from all my mind's violence.


She's called Ukulele, I call heer mine,

For she is my branch, as I am her vine. 




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