I tremble and shake,
Getting ready for the big performance
Waiting in the dressing rooms,
I desperately try to keep my stance.

I powder each finger delicately,
And run scales quickly then slow,
Clear arpeggios, agile fingers,
I practise controlling the bow.

Rosin the bow hair,
Polish the wood,
Smooth out the suit,
Make sure all is good.

Take a deep breath,
Count down from ten,
And then I walk out,
As calmly as I can.

I see the audience looking at me,
And I lift the violin to my chin,
Taking a deep breath,
I begin to play.
and then
Tchaikovsky whisks me away

I hear the echoes of my violin
resonating through the still air,
I smell the scent of wood and rosin
that linger in the white bowhair.
-my violin

I imagine myself
in Carnegie Hall
waiting for that moment
Where i would stand tall
-and play

Just me and my violin.
And the violinist in me.