A child sees a street musician and is amazed, while the mother, in a hurry, tries to pull her away. The poem is built as a conversation, and the two voices don't meet. The child sees a "man with a stick" and a "funny-looking box," describing a violin in fresh, odd terms because she doesn't know the word for it. She compares the player to a tree in the wind and the shiny wood to polished shoes. The mother answers only with orders: hurry, hush, don't look.
The mood is gentle but a little sad. The child's wonder is playful and sincere, and her final question, whether this isn't "the most magic trick you ever heard," feels like the heart of the poem. The mother's flat reply, "it's only a violin," shows how adults can stop noticing what is right in front of them. The poem doesn't scold her, though. It simply lets the child's eyes make the ordinary strange again, and leaves us wondering who is really missing out.