No Greater Jubilance Than a Violin's Exuberance

She takes a small breath. 

The room is silent.

All is quiet,

Silent as death.

Hearts beats,

As it endlessly repeats.

Slowly she bows

Before the watching crowd.

"Now she plays,"

She inwardly says 

Carefully, she decides to begin

The sound of her violin

Every ear is listening 

To her violin's christening,

The gentle sound 

So sweet to abound,

Rises up all around.

Her knees are knocking

But her violin is bold.

The sound so gold

Never ceases its frolicking

Never has there been

A sound so strong within

That so boldly resounds.

Hearts are yearning 

For the gentle turning

And the fire is burning

For the sound overturning.

Before long

Comes the end of the song

And again she bows

To the silent crowd

And a chorus of praise

Echoes in her ears as haze.

As she leaves the stage

The sound can still be heard

Of her violin, undettered.

Beauty in its most clear sense

In the hearts of many, it'll never dispense

For there's no greater jubilance

Than a violin's exuberance.