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I am a musical instrument,
Lying silently in the dark…
A stringed design for acoustic play,
Unpicked for far too long…
Perhaps a violin with ornamental flair,
Deafened by unbowed stroke…
Or even likened to a tender mandolin,
Mourning unplucked song…
I am an unlistened tune,
Belted out from afar…
A song that has yet to be written,
With a chorus that doesn’t belong…