I remember the song that permeates this poem. 
Sometimes the sound seems so lonesome,
But at the same time makes us call to mind
Memories of good times of another kind
 
My Dad and I used to spend hours fishing on the river
He would play the accordion and make me quiver
He would amuse me with telling stories of when he was a boy
I remember how I would laugh with joy
 
As the music flew with gentle persuasion from the box So tiny 
Making delightful music by my Dad's hands so shinny
These were the hands that I watched making furniture without a blemish
The beautiful pieces that I came to love and cherish
 
© Carol G Oliver