The old guitarist sat casually strumming

Daydreaming about summer spent thumbing

Across what was then his own little world

Just to be in the company of a certain girl

Finally starting to lift up his quiet ole voice

He sang a song of meaning  – that peace was a choice

He had loved her with all of his young man’s heart

Vowing that that love was a love never to depart

Thinking  back on loves since come and gone

Laughingly recalling how he has always pressed on

His life was filled with a tango of loving dances

Well intended in all of his passing romances

Peace and love were always his best choices

They just had to contend with all his other voices