The aged archtop hangs upon the wall
A work of art she still has beauty rare
In shame to this assignment did befall

When dressed in flat-wound strings she's light as air
And man, that girl could really sing the blues
Her heavy bottom tones would strip you bare

Those scars and scratches show she's paid her dues
Much like the one deployed into her keep
With cramp and pain the fingers now refuse

The passion, now regret, to soul will creep
A substitute must find a way to mend
So timbre, note and rhythm still can reap

Although it's hard for some to comprehend
Sometimes your inner music must be penned
                                                  rc