Violin

Where sleeps upon the shelf his violin

that in past with mournful tone he plucked

who woo'd a maiden fair and shaped within

the aria upon which ears had wanton supped

 

For now that hollow wood become an empty thing

and days her strings had sang so lovingly

its heart now dead because of loss of dream

and want of fingers who play now grudgingly

 

Silent now the bow and string so smoothly licked

and caught the graceful tones upon her played

time did take its toll on misery  sipped

where in past her elations joys has stayed

 

Gone now that audience who was his care

buried in the tomb with their mosses deep

the caress of the music they did share

where both now lay in their closets sleep

 

Twas grievous chords that last upon her sing

whose chorus stroked reception to the ground

since that place could not himself to bring

or bless that happy wood her joyful sound