My Mournful Violin

My mournful violin, a wooden soul, Beneath my fingers, tales unfold. Each string a tear, a silent plea, For joys departed, lost to me. The bow, a phantom hand that sweeps, Across the wood, where sorrow sleeps. A haunting melody, a whispered sigh, Echoes of love, now past and gone, they fly. The music weeps, a mournful strain, Reflected grief, an endless pain. Each note a chord, a broken heart, A bittersweet ache, tearing me apart. My violin, a solace and a curse, Woven with memories, I hold them close, rehearse. The echoes linger, in the fading light, Of love's departing, in the starless night.