The Art Of Violin Or Carom Poem by Daniel Trevelyn Joseph

Watching masters play violin
Is like my wife playing carom:
The movements are liquid grace
Either there is no gap or the pause
Is as beautiful as the notes,
As her striker, or his bow, moves
With mind behind the fingers.
To see her play is to be present
At the concert. Hear them, at carom.
She, Paganini, Oistrakh, the masters
Play on my heart-strings with
Sheer effortless ease and artistry.
I love the sounds they produce.