can you give me feedback on this poem I penned. Good or bad, I would like your opinion.
Decrescendo
A violin untouched for years
A bow waiting to be strung
Chords waiting to be played
Strings waiting to be rung
A door creaks open softly
The timber is bathed in light
The echoes of a better past
Emanate into the night
A man picks up the violin
As if it was his only child
The bridge aches of neglect
The yew has a feel of wild
The bow is picked up next
And string is put to string
He knows not its sound
Nor the melancholy it brings
Despite his brave attempts
The violin knows no song
For the effects of yesteryear
Have rested it far too long
I found your poem moving -- but in no way am I a critic of poetry.
I hope others add their opinions.