The Last Song
Seated at the piano
my father played
his composisitions - which were my poetry set
to music
He played on his Steinway grand
and gorgeous sounds poured forth
Singing with all my might
Together we performed our
art songs
Now there is no one to sing with
The years have taken
my father away
In the distance
horns honk and traffic moves
forward
Memories flood my brain
My eyes begin to water
But I will press on
He would have wanted it that way
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