Elegy for Stradivari

Now at rest, you sit atop the mantle.
Once your forefathers stood majestic in the forest,
Until harvest yielded their best products,
And you were born.

Your fine materials, treated with care
And chemicals, ensured your status as
An instrument unequaled.
A perfect specimen.

Formed with precision, the master
Turned your belly and back plate so
You could resound over the
Ages: timeless.

Your voice once sang for countless ears
To hear. Symphonies played with you in
Their midst. Crowds applauded
Your harmonious chords.

You are silenced because
Of the very quality that caused you to be
Coveted. You are invaluable.
Damage to your body would be disastrous.

Alas, Stradivari would lament the waste!