Smooth, riveted wood wore a bright, shiny finish;
It's strings more precious than gold;
The color was a tangy red, slightly dominish;
It's handcrafted shape, curved all around,
Alone it sat daring to make a sound,
But only the silence echoed back so profound.

The beauty it once displayed
In voice, in song, in spirit
Was of no wonder expertly played;
Every note, every word
Seem to sing like melodies that a bird.

But there it lay, dust stricken
All beauty left there, simply forgotten;
Left alone to be, nothing but sicken;
Love crafted it's song, and by love it was begotten.

The old wooden frame, sat indignant
Waiting soley for the one, who knows it,
Longing to be picked up, cherished by one who holds it.
For too long it has been broken;
It's sweet melodies haven't been spoken

Time for love to bring it back,
To fix all it's broken strings,
Mend all it's fine lined cracks,
And repair all the scars that'd, been dealt it,
From years that love had helped it
Bring the broken back, and make it beautiful again,
Crying, time for love mend it's broken wings,
Wishing not just in vain
For hear that song so beautiful it now sings.