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The Violin
Rosewood violin upon a mantle peice,
Teeters on the edge of an abyss.
A child's curiosity cannot cease.
Tumbles the instrument from its precipice.
Falls to ground, Twangs and clatters.
Wood splinters, chips and shatters.
Strings unwind, snapped in tatters.
Each and every fragment scatters.
Marvelous Violin of rosewood grain.
Smashed , obliterated, torn in twain.
Never to be drawn again.
Broken now it shall remain.
Industrious workshops far away
Where all instruments are made to play.
With chellos and violias on display,
a new rosewood Violin shall be carved one day.
Teeters on the edge of an abyss.
A child's curiosity cannot cease.
Tumbles the instrument from its precipice.
Falls to ground, Twangs and clatters.
Wood splinters, chips and shatters.
Strings unwind, snapped in tatters.
Each and every fragment scatters.
Marvelous Violin of rosewood grain.
Smashed , obliterated, torn in twain.
Never to be drawn again.
Broken now it shall remain.
Industrious workshops far away
Where all instruments are made to play.
With chellos and violias on display,
a new rosewood Violin shall be carved one day.
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