Tight-strung strings, like brass they shone;
Carved wood, curved wood, like a bow.
There you sat, seeming alone;
A cur-yos touch set you aglow.

I was enraptured, or entranced;
Listening to your dulcet voice.
Under your spell, I took a chance,
And sang along, thinking by choice.

And now I find a silent room,
Stripped of all your sound's illusion.
You are absent from this tomb,
And I am left in great confusion.

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Mayan, in the year 640 AF.