To the Music On the Radio

I can remember hiding and listening to the music stemming from my fathers hands. Careful not to alert him; else the bow would fall, the melody would cease. Majestically the bow would sing on contact as it danced upon each string. Each note went on and on, in unison with the melody heard in the background. How proud I was of my father then and even more proud of him, today. Some time ago, the horsehairs and wood had been carefully put away. For years now, the music had ceased. Though silence is heard by everyone's ear, I will always hear my father's accompaniment to the music on the radio.