I stood in that black box
Watching as the girl’s fingers
Flew like birds in a flock
On her violin.
Like they didn’t want to linger.
Her mother came in,
Begging her to go faster
So one day she‘d be concertmaster
And she started again.
It was only a scale,
Her fingers went up and down
And mine, I knew they would fail.
I became worried
And the girl’s tempo turned hurried
For his mother screamed and cried.