No Greater Jubilance Than a Violin's Exuberance
She takes a small breath.
The room is silent.
All is quiet,
Silent as death.
Hearts beats,
As it endlessly repeats.
Slowly she bows
Before the watching crowd.
"Now she plays,"
She inwardly says
Carefully, she decides to begin
The sound of her violin
Every ear is listening
To her violin's christening,
The gentle sound
So sweet to abound,
Rises up all around.
Her knees are knocking
But her violin is bold.
The sound so gold
Never ceases its frolicking
Never has there been
A sound so strong within
That so boldly resounds.
Hearts are yearning
For the gentle turning
And the fire is burning
For the sound overturning.
Before long
Comes the end of the song
And again she bows
To the silent crowd
And a chorus of praise
Echoes in her ears as haze.
As she leaves the stage
The sound can still be heard
Of her violin, undettered.
Beauty in its most clear sense
In the hearts of many, it'll never dispense
For there's no greater jubilance
Than a violin's exuberance.