My violin is glorious.
Its shape is an hour glass,
fragile as the heart of a child.
Its strings produce smooth, charming notes,
curious as the night.
It composes songs for lovers, sharers and dreamers
gay as a youngster on Christmas morning,
yet it can generate songs as woeful as the sunless sea.

I will care for it every day of my life.
I will keep it in tune, clean and polished.
No reckless, careless human will come into contact with it,
nor will anyone who does not embrace its elegant sound come near.
My violin has soothed me in my darkest hour,
and I will be sure to defend it
from all the evils and impurities of the world.