[Canvases] - Harp

Within a hollow hall there is a harp with forty-seven jagged strings
And every string, once plucked, to its serrated chordmates clings
So woe upon the player who marks to make the broken forty-seven sing
For they will whisper twisting bloody tales across his fingers and his wrists
As he joins the harpists wailing:
                                                    Heresy, That our canvas should resist!