Violin

A sharp soprano rings out
You can heart it over the sound of church bells
Which shatter street windows on hazy sundays
And you can hear every drag of horse hair
Joining together to create;
Something beautiful.
Girls around town beg and shout
"Please play me next"
"Please play me next"
Because they too want to sound;
Beautiful.
They don't care if he plays so much that
Their strings are rusted or
Until the horsehair begins to split
They just want to be a magical melody
The kind that future generations will read back
And sit in awe,
As they try to replicate
A woman's dead song
Sung by a man.