There it would be slumping like an aged elephant.
Dull black paint that was wrinkled and chipped
The keys bellow looking like rotting teeth
All chipped and covered in dust
I would sit on the cold iron rusted chair
And dust away the keys to make room for my magic.
I would gaze at the piano book and stare at the tadpole shaped notes
Not knowing what they meant,but just liking how they danced on the page
I would poke and thud at the keys making horrific tones.
But at that time is was nothing less then a symphony to me.
The untuned piano just aching as I played and played
Closing my eyes and striking down harder and harder
Some of the keys were so beaten from use they would just sag
and hide from the tips of my fingers
Then I would pause for a moment and gather my breath.
I would walk away from the gentle musical beast,
smiling thiking I had done such a magnificent job.
My finger tips still pulsing from my performance
And I would put the chair back neatly underneath
My emptiness only lasting a moment
Because I knew I would be back to play again after lunch!