O'Cello : Comments Accepted

I was in a cello concert by one of the known cellist worldwide yesterday. I can't remember her name for it was Russian and hard to pronounce.
As the crowd all piled up, she started speaking, talking of its origins, where it came from and everything you would tell about a cello. She said it was made from wood found in the sunken ships. And she went on and on, played the beautiful masterpieces, but the people have left slowly. Some remained out of courtesy, while very few listened attentively, and I wrote this poem.
-----------------------------------
The Cello..

Cello, O’cello
The eyes, the ears, the mind, all follow
Through your sounds, all mellow
Cello, O’cello

A 16th century left over wreck
Of a ship, parked beneath the deck
A wooden masterpiece of a craftsman’s weary hand
A beauty ashore the soundless land

The audience, claps from the seats, all smiles
Your music, expands into the mystical realms
In your oscillating rhythms they plunge their souls
Other hearts hesitate but yet the music controls

They walk by, oblivious to your mystery
A ship’s boiler, in your melody is part of your history
An everlasting beauty lies in your strings of gold
Unmatched by the heavenly sailor tales, untold

They do not listen deep into your mind
A story, of a past drenched warmly behind
Bach’s prelude, Vivaldi and Boccherini, all around
In the orchestra, their images you cherish in your shrilling sound

The audience, hushed in your presence
One by one, the seats empty despite your radiance
You have kindly played your symphony
Across notes of enchanting serenity

There is always a crowd when you speak
A centre of attention, but hardly they seek
Your true meaning and wisdom
Of time, elapsed elastically in your words of freedom

Anon, your music drifts away as though a butterfly
Resonates across the solid walls for a fragile fluttering fly
Poorly, my dear cello, you are left alone
Your words marveled many but yet you remain unknown

Cello, O’cello
The eyes, the ears, the mind, all follow
Through your sounds, few left mellow
Cello, O’cello

-----------------------------------

I would highly accept any comment! I would be honored.
Cheers,
M
PS. Thanks!

This is a very sensitive and observant account of that experience. Unfortunately your occasionally forced-sounding rhymes interfered with my pleasure in it.

The cello is a mysterious creature, and my favorite instrument. My friends and I were comparing our souls to musical instruments once, and I said my soul was a cello. Something deep within me stirs when I hear its solemn strains - maybe I was a sailor in my past life, and still hear the sounds of it within me *laugh*. I see now I'm not the only one who aches inside when I hear it!

You really capture your awe with your words. No need to rhyme for this one, just let it come - your marvelous imagery will do the rest.

Thank you so much : D I need corrections to it b4 i show it off somewhere so that's very well appreciated! :) And yeah.. cello is some very mystical instrument, or so I think.

I updated the poem : D