Maurice Francis Egan’s “The Old Violin”

“The Old Violin” by Maurice Francis Egan

I did an earlier post about my fiddle and fiddle playing ( “Poetry, Irish Fiddle Music and Cara Dillon” ). I’m still ‘sawing’ away on it; enjoying practicing, but making snail-slow progress. A poem I wrote, “The Fiddler and the Devil” is scheduled to be published this fall in the quarterly Fiddler Magazine. Maybe someday it will be added to the canon of fiddle poems alongside that of Maurice Francis Egan’s “The Old Violin” which a friend illustrated with a pen and ink illustration and gave a framed copy to me as a gift. Other copies can be ordered at www.poeticexpressions,etsy.com

THE OLD VIOLIN
Maurice Francis Egan

Though tuneless, stringless, it lies there in dust,
Like some great thought on a forgotten page;
The soul of music cannot fade or rust, –
The voice within it stronger grows with age;
Its strings and bow are only trifling things –
A master -touch! – its sweet soul wakes and sings.

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