The Violin
With tool and wood the craftsman slave, patience
within the soul he gave
To ever last through ages long, so very light,
but yet so strong
At his bench both day and night, with tool and chisel
he carve just right
A neck to make, and turn the scroll, the pegs to fit
he drill the hole
Hard maple back, and spruce the top, the sides he
steam and interlock
A sound post fit and so the bridge, to fit the contour
of the ridge
A piece of wood he put in place, to give it depth,
and also bass
A varnish stain of amber hue, a reddish stain to
blend too
Some Virtuoso maybe play, to give someone
a brighter day
For music make the world go round, a greater piece
of art not found
Four strings he add, and then to pitch, to test the
soul he gave so rich
A balanced bow, he now must make, the hair from
mane of horses take
Then to his hand, he draw the bow, across the strings
the music flow
A Symphony, a quiet band, a melody heard 'round the land
Copyright © Leroy Max | Year Posted 2016
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