Child Prodigy Poem by Eli Spivakovsky

Child prodigy, performed for royalty

at the beginning of the century

1903

Considered the wonderkind

considered a gift-given

always rehearsing

always exciting

the critics darling

But today

He gave his stradivarious away

Gave it to the gypsies.

The Romas

the people with no home

they made you repeat

the word 'receipt'.

as they gave you the e-string

pulled it from the violin

and cursed and laughed

and played it with horse's hair

and played it with singing

and all the things

it didn't bring for you.

Now come with me to the forests of Kiev

I'll show you where I buried a book about freedom.

We can wait til it blossoms.

Or the snow makes it forgotten

but your name will live on, no fear

without as much attention

but still an ascension

like the gypsies hired for the hay

they do their best then on their way