A Violin's Reason
What is it,
That fascinates me so?
Of the smooth, polished wood,
Of the horse-tail bow
How’s its beauty,
Awe to me every time?
Thin, tightened strings,
All indeed, gratefully mine
When is its sound,
The purest it can be?
In the minutes I breathe it in,
It flows into me
Like leaves in the wind, they swirl,
They jingle, drum and whir,
Carried out or cut off,
Bumping along or boldly sure!
The notes fly like fairy’s,
From the magic strings of my violin,
And mesmerizingly lost, I’ll play till very end
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