From the room, far back,
a gray-haired man
Came forward and
picked up the bow,
Then wiping the dust
from the old violin,
And
tightening the loosened strings,
He played a melody,
pure and sweet,
As a caroling angel sings.
"A thousand dollars, and
who'll make it two?
Two thousand!And
who'll make it three?
Three thousand once,
three thousand twice,
And going, and gone,
" he said.
The people cheered,
but some of them cried,
"We do not quite understand
What changed its worth?"
Swift came the reply:
"The touch of the master's hand."
~~
~~
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