Category: Poems

  • The Touch of the Master’s Hand

    It was battered and scarred and the auctioneer thought It scarcely worth his while To waste much time on the old violin, But held it up with a smile. “What am I bid, good folks?” he cried “Who’ll start the bidding for me?” “A pound, a pound”, then “Two!” “Only two?” -“Two pounds, and who’ll…