5 Sonnets (About Cellos, of Course)

I

The cello is an instrument of strings,

Of polished wood and powdered resin dust;

And when the bow runs cross the strings, it sings

A tenor song of heavyheartedness.

Its saddened voice rings out across the hall,

Until at last its tranquil song is sung.

The variegated notes begin to fall -

The resonating melody has rung.

Through empty rows and seats the silence flows,

Each corner and each dark place listens, waits,

In hopefulness that music may soon close

The twisting bars of silence’s lonely gates.

The cello is an instrument of strings;

And when the bow runs ’cross the strings, it sings.

II

The cello is an instrument of strings,

Of polished wood and a gath’ring resin crust,

Whose melody floats upward, as on wings

to heaven’s gracious skies, through cloudy dust.

The cellist moves her fingers up and down,

And to and fro, across the ebony bridge,

Then notes enwrap the audience like a gown

And illustrate a lovely, stunning image.

And soon, the audience, wrapped in music’s sway,

Is shaken to reality’s cold clutch -

The warmth of music’s glow has run away.

For the audience, the silence is too much.

The cello is an instrument of strings,

and when the bow runs ’cross a string, it sings.

III

The cello is an instrument of strings,

Of polished wood and powdered resin dust;

and when the bow runs cross the strings, it sings

a wistful tune of heavyheartedness.

The notes are intertwining and profound,

The melody is luscious and precise;

And largos and larghettos slowly round -

With charm and beauty, so doth it entice.

Its melancholy voice rings outward ‘til

At last its mirthless song begins to fade.

The concert hall has only grown more still,

In wonder of the splendor t’was displayed.

The cello is an instrument of strings,

And when the bow runs ’cross the string, it sings

IV

The cello is an instrument of strings,

Of polished wood and gath’ring resin dust,

Whose melody floats upward, as on wings

to heaven’s gracious skies, through cloudy crust.

The notes are intertwining and profound,

The melody is luscious and precise;

And largos and larghettos slowly round -

With charm and beauty, so doth it entice.

And soon, the audience, wrapped in music’s sway,

Is shaken to reality’s cold clutch -

The warmth of music’s glow has run away.

For the audience, the silence is too much.

The cello is an instrument of strings,

And when the bow runs ’cross the string, it sings

V

The cello is an instrument of strings,

Of polished wood and powdered resin dust;

and when the bow runs cross the strings, it sings

a wistful tune of heavyheartedness.

The cellist moves her fingers up and down,

And to and fro, across the ebony bridge,

Then notes enwrap the audience like a gown

And illustrate a lovely, stunning image.

Its melancholy voice rings outward ‘til

At last its mirthless song begins to fade.

The concert hall has only grown more still,

In wonder of the splendor t’was displayed.

The cello is an instrument of strings;

And when the bow runs ’cross the strings, it sings.