To coax a song from wood and horsehair string,
Let gentle pressure be your guiding light,
And bow with grace, a melody to bring,
A vibrant tone, both delicate and bright.

Then, grapes must yield their essence to the press,
A patient hand to guide the sugared must,
Fermented slow, a vintage to possess,
A crimson tear, released from earthy dust.

So violin sings, a pure and trembling plea,
And wine unfolds, a story to impart,
A mirrored echo of what's meant to be,
A soulful ache that tears the heart apart.

One stirs the ear, the other claims the soul,
And whispers tales that make the spirit whole.

Tomaž Jevšenak