I saved you from the attic
When I bought you cheap
And well past second-hand,
Then lavished boundless tender care.
Beloved cello, why have you forsaken me?
I sacrificed white handkerchiefs to wipe your brow,
I tuned you, played and practiced on you faithfully
since time began
Despite the grainy sound
And intermittent groans
Emerging from my bouts with Bach.
One day, astonishment!
The sound of angels soared up from our foyer!
Visiting, the youthful artist Angela
Had entered, drawing from my scores downstairs,
Her tones sublime, seductive as
a stellar lieder-singing baritone.
Sweet Angela had surely brought
her ravishing concerto instrument!
Descending, I could see her rapt in play,
But fast recoiled in horror.
Borrowing my instrument,
She coaxed such lovely textures,
somehow inconceivable.
She left. Aged music stand informed me,
“Your turn!” with metallic sneer.
Resin on the bow, I rushed to sense
My spruce-wood’s masterful rejuvenation
After intervention of that angel’s wizardry.
In vain! All fervent efforts failed.
They crushed me with despair
As scratch-and-groan obnoxiousness returned.
Cello, soulful cello, I implore you,
Why have you forsaken me?