Repairing Violins

The violins hang in the shop,
each one carefully restored,
brought back from the brink
of ruin, their music almost lost.
junk in the closet, until
someone saw music
in their brokenness.
and began the laborious restoration.

They will never be perfect.
Take them down and look
and you will see the cracks.
No repairs are invisible.
They linger on long after the damage is done.
They will never be perfect
but their music lives on
and echoes in the night
for all to hear.

About this poem

True of violins. True of people.

Tom