Eight-line Poems

Slowhand

Slowhand

The Enga man slips in
and steals the finest notion -
an instrument he be
of music and devotion.

Which leaves me with the bones,
both aged and aching now,
and yes, a tune they make
but I’ll not take a bow.


Line count: 8
Rhymed abcb
For Express It In Eight, 02.15.24
Prompt: Write a poem about archaeology or a cave or treasure or music or bones.