Ode To Piano
There you sit,
My baby grand,
Elegant and serene,
Full of untapped potential.
Your keys that sing
Like lovely songbirds
When struck right
Lay silent in waiting.
From across the globe,
Masterpieces arise.
From ballrooms and church halls,
Your melodic voice rings.
You are a siren; formerly loved
For allure and charm,
Now discarded over the ages,
Though your grace still holds true.
But alas, your beauty is being forgotten.
Your dissonant chords
No longer a means of expression,
But a chore forced down throats.
That is not what you are to me.
I take my seat in front of you
And brush the dust from your keys.
Little black birds on telephone wires
Scattered across the pages
Flit around in spite of me,
Impossible to keep up with.
I glance at the familiar names
Written at the tops-
Beethoven and Bach,
Mozart and Chopin.
They did not fabricate your marvel,
But simply tamed those
Little
Black
Birds.
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