More Than Just a Mentor

I drive down that little dirt road
To her old house deep in the woods
It was a back road to a back road
Where that sweet home stood

Childhood memories echo in the valley
From a young me in artful  training
From the little old lady that lived here
My voice and hers in our singing

The memories are bittersweet ones
She was like a grandmother and friend
But actually a very distant cousin to me
Nevertheless my mentor till her end

From the time I was five I learned
Trained in piano, painting, and voice
Dabbled in auto-harp and psaltry
Though practice was not my choice

At times I shirked my responsibility
To hone my talent and my skills
I should have taken advantage of it
Absorbed until I had complete fill

I abandoned the warmth of the house
Her near-ancient wisdom and love
By the time I returned to that place
'Twas soon she'd make her home above

I cried and cried when I heard of it
Her passing on beyond this old world
I sat in the church pew and lost it
Everyone saw this one sad little girl

I've regretted not being consistent
And learning all I could from her
For not being diligent in the music
And not hanging on her every word

I loved that little old lady to death
When she was gone, I lost my friend
She was more than just a mentor
Her kind testimony drew me in

I feel ashamed to think that now
She'd be sorely disappointed in me
And what I've become in these years
A broken artist far from being godly