It is often overlooked, With no purpose other than to fill space Yet it can lend charm to what would otherwise be emptiness

I rest where heartbeats whisper low, A gentle circle worn to show. Cold metal, gems, or threaded lace, I borrow warmth from skin and grace.

I open like a book but for reading, I have keys but no lock I work when you tap, sleep when you shut I travel with you, yet stay on your lap.

Frets I have many, but worries are none. I’ve got a waist and a neck, but no belt or hat. Give a pluck and I can make you a star, Like BB and Carlos, Brittany, and Jack.

A mirror, made of varied hues But only those the makers choose A space designed to trap a muse And once its soul is captured there Imprisoned, hanging in the air Then people pay to come and stare What am I