Friday, November 14, 2014

My Violin

A voice of angel,
Silhouette of the heaven,
The mortals hearken.

So gracefully plucked,
Bowed to tune of utmost luck,
Sound so tender back.

Immortals dreaming,
Relief of the weary soul,
Like bird’s sweet humming.

Curve of much fortune,
Melody produced so toned,
Laboriously honed.

So much so fascinating,
Our ears are yearning.

Mozart’s concerto,
Plucking it pizzicato,
Like virtuoso.

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