The Boy and the harp.

Such precious, and ethereal notes ought to be played for someone special.

Are thou heart plagued my a miracle? Thy strings play with such contempt that the golden strings shall be put at rest.

Les the high winds blow you away, for thou winds churn and spin with light of  kin, Harp oh thou Harp, bless thee with the musical key.

Hark! Thy Harp is me.

The magic within the Harp, I only know. Thy fingers touch with a hum to be shown, with a Hum noble and true I rebuke you! that seat is not for you, but of the gods of the sky.