The ninepenny fiddle plays a tune,
A confession for Holy Week, a ruin.
Its notes are solemn, a cry for grace,
echoing in a lonely, sacred place.
In the quiet of the night, it sings,
of the loss of faith and hopeless things.
A melody of sorrow and yet of joy,
A prayerful song, no sin can destroy.
The grand match, the service draws near,
A time of honor, with hearts sincere.
With valor and with purpose strong,
We pray together, a steadfast throng.
In service to the truth we stand,
United as one, hand in hand.
Our spirits are high, our resolve clear,
against Lucifer, we persevere.
Here we sing of lovely things,
of faith and hope with fiddle strings,
of service grand and sin’s farewell,
In prayers where dreams of heaven dwell.
Table of Contents constraint poetry project. In this constraint, a poetry anthology originally published in 1925 was used. In each chapter section, titles were organized by theme and used to create a new poem.
WoPoLi 
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