InOBU, The Uilleann Pipe, from what you describe, sounds similar to the following poem by Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)

A Reed

A craftsman pulled a reed from the reedbed,
cut holes in it, and called it a human being.

Since then, its been waiting a tender agony
of parting, never mentioning the skill
that gave it life as a flute.
(translated by Coleman Barks)

I think the saddest story I ever read was Sophie's Choice.