Classic Grumblings
The piano grumbled at his touch,
Playing fortissimo on command...
Nerves of steel snapping a string.
Ambitious to a fault, practicing the night into alarm,
Lizst spilled from the printed page
Like sour milk for a feral cat.
As he rose from the bench, music in hand,
An audible whispered relief rustled the curtains
And silence cradled the grateful room.
Copyright © Sharon Peeples | Year Posted 2007
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