Practice Makes Perfect

My fingers have nothing to gain from playing
Except for a little practice
And it's tricky when everyone is saying
You could, you are good- keep at it.

Yes I can write a line or two
Or strum a few chords in a row
But when it comes to making a line a few
The melodies melt like snow.

Because compared to you my head is bare
Your fingers are charged with the notes
You must know that you play my mind with tunes
Your songs cuddle people like coats.

This is a random rhyme for you
And though I'm tired and should go to bed
I hope you know what you do
Is beautiful. No more to be said.