She glared with hatred at the old violin,
Past down from siblings above.
And although she wished and even tried,
Those siblings made music she couldn't dream of.
She raised it to her shoulder
And pulled across the bow.
The vibrato came out quick and shaky,
She wanted wide and slow.
She tried in every way she could
To make the music fly.
And every time she failed,
She had to wonder why.
She couldn't get it right
And after yet another day,
She stopped in frustration
To take the time to say,
"I give up."
But just when she had lost all hope,
She slowly pulled the bow,
And played a melancholy noted
With vibrato; wide and slow.
She gazed with wonder at the old violin
Passed down from siblings above.
And the music that she could produce,
She began dreaming of.
