She holds it gently,
Clutching the mahogany neck,
I hear her pluck a note,
Her fingers dance along the deck,
I can't see her,
She is looking the other way,
The melody begins playing,
It starts to brighten my day,
Exquisite is her stacatto,
Short and sweet,
Then comes the vibrato,
Smooth and neat,
Who is this angel?
I imagine she is fair,
But before she turns around,
My train is here.
