I held you on my shoulder
Like a precious violin
Your dark black hair
Is but a chin rest
On which forever I would lean

The musky white hairs
Of the rigid bow
Are my flimsy little fingers
Gently stroking the cheeks
Of your strings which come in contact

The pegs clutch the strings
As you hold on to your beliefs
No matter the adjustment
You seek control over yourself
So brazenly and firm

The music we create
Is a short and simple melody
Of tragic and despair
For the chords seem to fail
At harmonizing oftentimes

Yet you stay on my shoulder
Resting peacefully and still
Your voice is so compelling
Full of pleasant notes and rests
A special kind of music
Reverberating in my heart.