July 22, 2009
By , STL, MO
It is made of wood,
It is four-stringed,
It can be bowed,
Plucked, or pinged.
Wooden, shiny,
The grace is
Plucking lightly,
Bowing long,
A cello is
Itself a song.
With strings of silver
And bow of white,
The beauty shines
Throughout the night.
The spotlight’s on me
As I adjust,
Playing the cello
Is a must.
My palms are all sweaty,
There’s a ringing in my ears,
But as I strike the first note,
I let go of my fears.
The music swells
Inside my heart,
All eyes watching
My solo part.
I press the strings
Beneath my fingers,
The song’s almost done,
But the beauty still lingers.

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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

SassieCassie322 said...
Feb. 6, 2010 at 1:15 am
i did a search on teen ink to see if there were any stories or art works on/about the cello. then i came across this. it is an absolutely BEAUTIFUL poem. it is so simple, yet so insightful and meaningful. i am a cellist and have been for 11 years now (since 1st grade) and i just loved this. i now want to show this to my cello teacher. i'm sure she will love it. keep on writing and inspiring us. GREAT JOB!!!!
starrymusic replied...
Feb. 6, 2010 at 1:38 pm
Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I've played the cello for 7ish years. Cellists rock. (:
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