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The Girl's Song

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She softly picked up the small wooden instrument,
delicately placing in the knap of her neck.
The bow swiftly sweeps the strings,
and a symphony beings.
The notes not coming from a score,
but yet from with in her soul.
A carnival of notes, and pitches, and beats,
Fills the air and brings a croud to it's feet.
But then the beat slows, saddens, and sorrows,
mocking the happy carnival tune from before.
Gradually the notes become longer and quieter,
until the delicate thread of music gives way.
The girl quietly puts down her small wooden insterment,
and walks away.
A smille on her face mocking her tears.





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