If you ask a songwriter which is his favourite song, he may answer, “The new one.” . Guitar players often have a similar affection for their newest guitar. This is my most recently completed song, The Park.  We live a block from a huge public park, and I wrote this song as a reflection of all the good times I have had at the park over the years.

I performed it on my newest guitar. The other day, I was at the Goodwill store with my family. On the counter there was a very battered and dirty guitar case and guitar. There was a greasepencil price of $40.04 on it. I tuned it up and even with old rusty strings, it sounded quite good so I bought it, even though I already have several acoustic guitars. There were unopened 20+ year old D’Addario strings in the case. My friend Brian put them on for me and it sounds great.

It is a late 60s or early 70s Yamaha FG-180 built in Japan. Apparently they are sought after by collectors. It may just have a few songs in it. I have one already 1/2 written. It was pretty dirty and mildewy when I got it but I have cleaned it up, so it looks and sounds great. It could probably use some maintenance and repairs on the neck and lower frets, but considering what I paid for it, it is doing remarkably well for a 40+ year old instrument.

The Park – ©Sean McGaughey

(Nov 3, 2011, Feb 27, 2012, June 7, 2012)

For a hundred years, our town’s come here to rest and play

To take time out from the bustle of the day

The scent of the world’s best fries rides the cool lake breeze

You can hear a child’s laugh and the rustle of the leaves

Frisbees flying through the trees,

A child calls “Daddy Push Me Please”.

The squirrels dart, and there’s a family of geese

Skaters practice flips and twirls To catch a smile from the pretty girls

And Old sweethearts take a little stroll in the dark.

It all goes down, In the heart of our town

It all goes down, at the park.

It takes a several score to grow an Oak, as long to build a town

We need some open spaces for folks to gather round

Children searching in the woods for treasure in trees.

While old folks watch clouds cross the lake in the evening breeze.

Children climb the tallest towers then slide down carpets of steel

Fledgeling teens take to flight on boats, boards and wheels,

Trees tell their tales of love; memories engraved.

This park is ours throughout our lives— from cradle to the grave.

Chorus