To the bourgeois buffoon, it’s just a thing,
A bunch of wood and a couple of strings,
But a musician sees much, much more,
And wouldn’t consider it such a bore,
It’s just a violin so few comprehend,
Why I think it’s as good as a friend,
But just by looking, you’d never see,
All the things it’s done for me,
It’s taken me places large and small,
From downtown Holland, to Devos performance hall,
You could say it’s served me well,
With just a scale or William Tell,
There’s one last thing I’d like to tell you,
In case you were wondering, “what does it do?”
All it takes is a little strife,
And it weaves the wishes and woes of life,
Weaving in love, weaving in hate,







Hoping that all will appreciate