Regarding the Case of
Hilary Hahn's Violin Case

I've heard they've heard It whisper in her case--
Enchanted words to sway her sleeping strings.
I've heard they've seen her bow then pull a face,
As if transformed, when ushered forth to sing.
In voice precise, It cages, teases strings,
Concocting brief, exacting melodies.
Then days It sings of life and loss and frees
A rolling wave of mournful majesty.
Betimes It sounds from deep within the mind,
Next circles heads in raging, swirling thrills.
Beware the song of warm and glowing light:
Its morrow broods in dark, foreboding trills.
Her case keeps humors blithe or quick or deep,
And plies her strings with magic as they sleep.