Serenely her bow glides across the strings;
Her fingers dance with graceful fury.
The blue flames rise within her eyes
As the instrument concedes her supremacy.
With shivering wails and mournful cries,
The strings tell of her failed hopes,
Of dark betrayals, and lovers lost,
And sacrifice at bitter cost.
With climbing runs and showering notes
They tell of grandeur vision,
Of daunting power and dominance,
Of supernatural confidence.
I stand in awe as she plays,
My eyes held by her mystic gaze.
My spirit moves in sympathy
With every note I hear and see.
And then into me music flows;
It is upon my soul she bows.
Then joy! O passion radiant—
I am her chosen instrument!
My spirit sings at her command.
Each vibrant note speaks high and grand,
And for a while her power is mine;
With newborn confidence I shine.
And when her notes do finally cease,
My frenzied heart awaits its peace.
Then laying down her instrument,
She stares at me with deep intent.
I feel exhausted, slightly frayed,
As do the strings on which she played,
But letting me repose a while,
She offers me a gentle smile.
George Chadderdon © 1994