Down The Narrow Ghetto Streets

Down the narrow ghetto streets 
Of noise and cobblestone 
You found me lying at your feet, 
My form reduced to bone, 
And lifting me most gingerly 
You recognized my frame 
Though strings and gilded brass were gone 
And only wood remained.

Down the narrow ghetto streets 
You carried your new prize 
Which all abusive handling 
Could not from you disguise. 
And reaching home you clothed my bone 
In little leaves of brass, 
Restrung my strings and tuned and honed; 
All skill did you surpass.

Down the narrow ghetto streets 
Dismantled hand by hand 
I lay at last before the feet 
Of such a tender man 
Who saw in me my finer strings 
And thus rebuilt this harp, 
So, ever shall I play for you 
The motifs of my heart.