Cello


She sits in her chair,
The wood touches her neck,
She looks at the ground,
Terrified of regret.
Looking to the crowd,
Eyes of curiosity,
Can she make a sound?
Ignore the blasphemy?
Slowly but surely,
WIth hesitant hands,
She throws up her arm,
And she starts up the band.
She raises her bow,
And when it touches the strings,
The world is amazed,
By the beauty she brings.

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