The Violin
This small wooden box,
Oh where to begin?
Played right, it just rocks,
When held under chin!
It's stroked with horse hair,
Or plucked with a finger,
Deep emotions ensnare,
With feelings that linger.
In starting to practice,
For hour after hour,
It scratches like cactus,
Causing neighbors to glower.
But after it's mastered,
It is just as if,
You've discovered the password,
To remarkable bliss.
Strung up with four strings,
Tuned always in fifths,
The perfect sound rings,
Giving nice aural gifts.
The same is quite true,
Of viola and bass,
And cello counts too,
Just give them more space.
So next time you hear it,
Go up to the man,
Who lifted your spirit,
Tell him you're a fan!
-Frank Bliss
Copyright, 2015
