The violin bowstring snaps, flies through the air,
Like blonde hair in the wind, with a carefree flare.
Tossed and twisted, it spirals out of sight,
No harmony here, just chaos in flight.
I pluck one, then another,
But the sound disappears, leaves me to wonder.
Ah, string, why so fragile, so thin,
Like my hopes when I wait for news to begin.
Now the violin sits in silence, no longer a song,
Just me, laughing while feeling something's wrong.
Unsure whether to cry or just grin,
As this poor instrument's too tangled to sing.
But then I remember, blonde hair doesn’t stay lost,
Blown in the wind, it lands but at no great cost.
Maybe the string just needs a short break,
So we can play tunes with fewer mistakes.
By. Nurish Hardefty
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