Kreisler

Sell me a violin, mister, of old mysterious wood.
Sell me a fiddle that has kissed dark nights on the forehead where men
Kiss sisters they love
Sell me dried wood that has ached with passion clutching the knees and
Arms of a storm.
Sell me horsehair and rosin that has sucked at the breasts of the morning
Sun for milk
Sell me something crushed in the heartsblood of pain readier than ever
For one more song.

~Carl Sandburg