A tiny grey pack of potential
torn open with Christmas-like glee
The old ones retired,
with love, though, not fired
and the body rests over my knee
It’s my first time, and so I work slowly,
prickle my finger with pain
But I push and I turn,
I’m trying to learn
for when I next do this again.
I’m helped by the original owner
who gave me this beautiful thing
It has taken me years
but I’ve reshaped my fears
and now I have brand new strings.