Unexpected were his hands
Not long- fingered, slender of bone and white
But strong and broad as would a hammer wield
Not a bow, and grace the slender neck of violin
But then, with deftness born of dedication
Mercurial, on fretless string and bow
With intimacy of magician with his wand
Unerringly, those hands began to play.
Naturally, swiftly, the notes rippled like the brook
Tumbling, skipping, laughing, crying’  pleas
So nimble were those hands a-now
To me they were as fairies in a dance.
His magic touches me – my mind my heart
As I and his music were enjoined as one
And I not of earthy stuff was made, but of music too,
Nor was I in the here and now
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘  But hanging, effervescent in some ether- world.’ ‘ 
‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ ‘ 
*’ Izaack Perleman