Symphony

I, the violin.

You, the bow.

We dance and sway in harmony in every delicate stroke.

They tempt with fingers,

pickling through my silky strings,

leaving the wood trebles in vain.

When music knows its way around,

fools will not be entertained.

You, the composer.

I, the design.

Bewilder me with your intoxicating notes,

going higher and higher till you hit my hinder end,

one last stroke to our passion play.

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