Sweet cellist, sit, and play your song for me:
place fingers on the strings and slide your bow
across the bridge. Now drift, deft melody:
give beauty voice, and set our souls aglow.
Your hat and beard may hide your face, but still
your music tells us all we need to know
about your spirit, and your strength of will,
your practice; all the work you undergo
to bring this tender ballad to our ears
and stop us in our tracks as we pass by.
This gift, given by one of your young years,
is precious, rare -- an aural butterfly
that flutters into hearing and then departs,
spreading color and delight to all our hearts.
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