He raises the bow, slides
Delicately across strings,
D major, A sharp, C minor
Elbow straight, raised high,
And something magical happens

Notes released into the air,
Gliding swiftly, cleanly, clearly.
Mourning put into music,
Rejoicing in regret,
Reading without words,
The deepest, the understanding
of the soul.

Of the bass, harp, violin,
there is only one sound I hear
It is the cello, one cello,
Played by one whose every breath
in rhythm, flat nose, sharp ears
Eyes closed, head rocking, like of
one possessed, but by the spell, the
beauty, the ethereal essence of music, that
One cannot simply deny.

Brother, I know you have the it
that it takes, though I don't know what
is it, really. But I watch you, and I
Simply know, deep in the
Recesses of my soul,
that you can.
So stop dragging me to these
performances to tell me
look at them! I'll never be
This good
And start trying, actually
trying, for once in your life.

I'll be waiting to see you
on that stage, playing for me.
Don't disappoint me.