John Lars Zwerenz Poet Verse

The Baby Grand

THE BABY GRAND

The black baby grand, 
Caressed by a slender finger, 
By a young, red-haired’s fair, small hand, 
(With her russet curlicues in a bow) 
Emits cadences that languishing, linger
From the royal nook of the lady’s parlor, 
Where she gazes through the stained-glass window
Upon the florid, turquoise harbor; 
(A wave ascends, then reels, 
Circling down to the watercress.) 
Her patrician dress
(One might confess) 
While modest, reveals
Her soft, lavish knees, 
Where lilac-scented harmonies
Ring from that medieval chamber, 
Out into the garden below, 
Through the half-open, bluish panes, 
Where the dahlias, slumbering, waver
Now to and fro, now high, now low, 
Kissed by those amber, ghostly strains.

JOHN LARS ZWERENZ

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