The Violinist and His Fiddle

With a box of wood, the violinist fiddles
His fingers upon its strings to play
Aiming to solve great musical riddles
With awesome technical display

The horse’s hair on the bow is tightened
Then the rosin is applied for grip
Across the cords it is drawn enlightened
To convey a musical trip

Tuxedo donned as performance attire
He lifts the fiddle from a velvety cocoon
To the concert platform he does aspire
The deftly serenades with a lovely tune

Melding the fiddle to his form
United with the sublimely divine
His jaw grips its gorgeous form
Which no one would ever malign

Works of sonic art he imparts
While listeners contemplate
Stirring emotions in sundry hearts
They have feelings to relate

Deciphering musical code with alacrity
In quest to conquer a great piece
With the hope of avoiding a travesty
His toil does not ever cease

Though similar to solitary confinement
As some may think it drudgery
A violinist’s practice brings refinement
Thus, leading to great mastery

Collaborating with colleagues to perform
In ensembles large or small
When energy is spent, he retreats to a dorm
After visiting the dining hall

Expressing himself through musical agency
Is the violinist’s greatest desire
Until physically disabled by deficiency
From the fiddle he will never retire.