The Dusty Violin

The Dusty Violin

A dusty violin lies in the corner of the room

Covered in dust as if in a tomb

Broken strings tell their story

Of nights of opera and its glory

Crowds filled with wild emotions

Clapping hands with excited commotions

Years have worn the polished grain

And damped air has twisted the frame

But with love, it will play it again

With strings that hold true.