Your violin is more than a hundred years old.
The scratches on it like the wrinkles on your face.
The buttons on your coat used to be covered with gold.
Every morning I see you at the same time and place.
And now I am waiting, I want to hear you play,
The opened violin case is in front of you on the ground.
Probably, it will rain – the morning is gray,
Not too many people because of this are around.
You don’t need a lot, just for breakfast; a bottle of beer
And may be a little bit more for the new “A” violin string.
The violin is your lover, your working gear
Of your simple life – the most valuable thing.
You closed your sad eyes, you are playing now.
In your music I see snow, covering muddy grass,
The cold wind makes the naked tree bow –
It lost all of its pride since it lost its colorful dress.
Then your bow goes faster and I see the shining sun,
The blooming meadow, singing birds in the skies,
And I already know, when you will be done,
There will be some money in the case and some tears in eyes.