The Broken Violin

In the rear of an old antique shop.
Hidden on a dusty wooden shelf,
Was a box old and worn.
Ragged, tattered and torn.
Alone and all by itself.

The shop was full of interesting things,
Some rare and some just debris.
It's hard to stand out,
When your left without,
A self-image and degree of dignity.

People walked by but never really tried
To see what may lie within.
They'd pick and they'd choose,
Through discarded refuse.
Didn't care or know where to begin.

One day an old man in search of new treasure,
Spied the box and decided to peek in.
Once he eyed,
What laid inside,
It produced a most heart warming grin.

For there in a bed of faded old paper,
Laying prouder than it'd ever been,
Was a worn instrument,
The forlorn embellishment,
Of an old bow and broken violin.

It was fairly well kept, despite where it slept,
It had obviously once been well used.
Among other things,
It was missing some strings.
Some TLC could make it like new.

God's gifts are funny, they don't need much money,
Just attention and sincere tender care.
Given a chance,
A life is enhanced,
Redemption takes concern, love and prayer.

The man took it home and tended to its tone,
He had a delicate, light, soothing touch.
It didn't take long,
To produce a sweet song,
From this fellow who had suffered so much.

Some folks live their lives and never realize,
Their potential and God-given worth.
They sit on dark shelves,
The victims themselves,
Of futures predetermined by birth.

In some old dark shop one might pause and stop,
Take time to help out a fellow man.
It doesn't take much,
To reach out and touch,
Those in need of an extended hand.

The man learned to play, and brighten each day,
With his new social partner and friend.
Most people say,
He relishes the day,
He found his treasure in an old broken violin.


Copyright © November 2009
Kevin Mooney