I have passed this old violin for days in a nearby shop, reluctant to pick up such a delicate thing in my hands which have broken pick axes. The violin is gone now, to be part of a time capsule I am told, but the music still plays on in my mind.
In silence within its case,
In silence so sublime,
No longer to see its face,
To be part of a capsule of time,
The strings once placed are silent,
The strings music did impart,
The music plays on in memory,
The music plays within my heart.
Memories contained within wood,
Memories of a skillful hand,
Once played by a country fire,
Perhaps played as part of a band,
In orchestra finding purpose,
In orchestration we have our parts,
As music gives to our souls,
And music our souls impart.
Let seeds be planted in the soul,
For seeds aspire to the sky,
As strings join to form a whole,
As strings sing the answer why,
Coming from the Great Composer,
Coming from Heaven above,
For all music sings from the heart,
All music sings of love.