a eulogy

it happened today after quartet rehearsal
i was cleaning my bow of its rosin dispersal
i picked up my rosin to put it away
when, lo and behold, much to my dismay...

a strong gust of wind and a bright flash of light
whanged my poor rosin clear out of my sight
i let out a gasp, tightly closing my eyes
not wanting to see what i'd come to surmise:

i screwed up my courage and opened my lids
the scene before me was not suitable for kids...
my beautiful rosin, so dear to my heart
lay shattered in pieces, like post-modern art

so viciously slain, in the prime of its life
now my heart's cut open, as if with a knife
as i gathered its pieces, i tried to discern,
where now am i going? which way do i turn?

for it has been with me for five years of rockin'
beethoven, tschaikovsky, max bruch, j. s. bachin'
from under the able baton of hans p.
to jay reeve, chad hutchinson, svanoe-utke

from the early instruction of hans peterson
to the clever direction of kris determan
to the wit, talent and fervor of jacob murphy
my rosin has been there, for them and for me

but now i'm unsure of where my life's heading
each day, every hour, each minute, i'm dreading
black veils i am wearing, my robes i am ripping
for who will be there to stop my bow from slipping?