Sorrow Of A Violin

A tribute to the harsh times in Victorian Great Britain.

The day dimm'd in the gloom,
Within the brisk murk shading,
The derv'd bluebells abloom,
And the brittle cluster lading.

Those worn boles sadden'd,
Whilst the crimp leaves sigh,
Amidst trees once gladden'd,
Along the soothing cleft nigh.

The rakish stir thus hush'd,
And willows mourn and weep,
Across a dreary field blush'd,
Where forgotten stems sleep.

The leery chaffs of an ersh,
Between the wayward grain,
From the dry husks to thresh,
Beseeching for a wistful rain.

The wains stale and empty,
When the lands dree fallow,
Amidst the clouds too drifty,
That hover o'er the barrow.

The waifs thirsty and hungry,
In the weary days of drought,
That were ere fain and sundry,
Among brethren who wrought.

The old stows now drench'd,
Within willowy drops of tears,
Where wanhope has clench'd,
Onto careworn fingers and ears.

Listen to the sorrow of a violin,
With sobbing strings that play,
Beside a still withering garden,
When happy days are far away.