Sweet Instrument of Mine

Sweet instrument of mine, with a sound as sweet as an angelic chorus, 

yet if played by unskilled hands you shriek like a hellish ghoul. 

Your strings like fine, metal twine that hold such great beauty 

when touched by the delicate horsehair of your sleek, elegant bow. 

Your body is sleek like a freshly waxed floor and curved like a 

well-endowed woman.

Your tender body made from the finest wood of a weeping timber;

Your scroll wound like the tail of a bouncing, bubbly piglet.

Your chambers that secrete that luscious music, shaped as the letter

‘f’’, 

to deliver your powerful sound, 

curl perfectly as if written by a professional typographer. 

You are so dear to me, sweet instrument of mine.

Your sound never fails to lull me into serenity.

I will never fail to keep you as sleek and clean as the day I received you.

I will always relieve the stress of your tightened bow and clean it of the dust that makes it slide so elegantly over your strings.

I will make sure you stay in your cozy, satin-lined crib; 

your body never leaving a comfortable temperature that meets your 

needs.

Not a single scar will be left on your unscathed skin; 

Not a single incompetent hand will graze your body. 

No one will harm you, sweet, sweet instrument of mine.