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Lamenting strings of my violin... how sorrowfully they wail
as if they mourn for my mistakes, so many times I've failed.
When my bow caresses them now, do they feel the pain
within my heart, the emotional wounds from which it bleeds?
"Why has love forsaken me?" my quivering voice pleads...
with the same vibrato quavering from the violin's refrain.

I yearn to have my love's head placed beneath my chin...
in the tender hollow where his nestled kisses have been.
My violin weeps as I do when my tears flow upon its wood.
With trembling fingers, I hold it close, and my frailty is exposed.
"Forgive me please, dear instrument with sadness I've imposed.
I hear your cries in each mournful note, as if you understood."

I should show some compassion and mercy by letting it be
instead of eliciting it for comfort in this time of misery.
O, heart of mine, the time has come to stop this weeping.
No serenade pervades my soul when I hold it at arm's length.
No sultry songs can I play that would give me immortal strength.
Far better that I should lovingly lock it away in safe keeping.

I yearn not for an audience to hear melancholy notes I'd play.
Stradivari would be mortified if he heard me plucking chords today.
Perhaps he'd say, "Madam, your artistry was meant for other things!"
I cannot fiddle a classical sonata when my future is a riddle to me.
Perchance one day I will endeavor to play again with bel esprit...
if my heart has healed of its sorrow and grief no longer stings.

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