The Violin
She was a lonely violin,
in a case all by herself,
looking forward to the evenings,
when he’d take her off the shelf-
After reaching his destination,
he would gently set her down,
and ever oh so tenderly,
remove her velvet gown-
With chin held high, he’d hold her close,
she made him feel so proud,
and then a song she would sing ,
which always drew a crowd-
Together they were magical,
making music quite refined,
he knew that she was special,
of an extraordinary kind-
Late one night the maestro sighed,
a tear rolled down his eye,
this cannot forever last, he said,
for soon I’m going to die-
The violin now knew,
that soon would be their end,
he had filled her life with loving care,
and been so true a friend-
Now on any given night,
walking down this unpaved street ,
some hear a violin’s lonely cry,
so sad , but yet so sweet-
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