A wrecked piano in my courtyard lies
Hit any key - a lonely, mournful sound
Black-lacquered giant in seclusion dies
Whilst callous gawpers hang around
A faithful servant, you were long in play
So many fingers overflew your keyboard
It's silent black and white array
Delusive calmness it kept inward
The glossy panels mirrored, first, a child
Two little hands through octaves fumbling
Your strings responded piano, mild
You were indulgent, never humbling
And later, firm and dexterous hand
Asked for a graceful, flowing sound
All on your own, you were a band
Expression power paramount
You sang, whatever were the songs
Conveyed a thousand dreams and voices
You touched the strings, you stroke the gongs,
You followed any of the choices
But now the rooms you're taken from
Stay voided, cold in lifeless silence
After your master, you pass on
For emptiness needs no appliance.
The piano
© Copyright: Леонид Малахов, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118082309299
Свидетельство о публикации №118082309299
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