Day was dawning and all was still.

Nan got up and slowly trod outdoors.  Nobody was stirring this morning.  Only birds’ shrill calls split through a windy air.

Nan was not drowsy, but calm.  Tramping through damp brush, Nan was happy.  A tiny bug lit a trail in dirt.

In a bush, Nan saw a thing.  Stopping, Nan took it up in admiration.  It was a guitar, with just four strings.  Nan, plucking a string, sat down.  It was smooth and shiny, but with a string missing.

“I don’t know who owns it,” Nan said, “Or if anybody wants it now.”

It follows that Nan saw an inscription on a sign on this guitar.  “‘To any who may want this guitar, it is yours.’”