Sunday, July 10, 2011

Piano Glow

Sweet, sweet dreams of long ago,
Bathed in a golden piano glow.
Memories of days long past
Which went too fast, which went too fast.
My mother spoke of them with yearning,
Longing for them to be returning.
Families gathered in the gloom
Of a well-upholstered Victorian room,
Listening to Alice playing
While, with hushed voices, they were saying
'Alice  plays so very well
And she's grown into quite a belle.
Soon a husband must be found.
Everyone must look around.'
Ah yes, the scene is sweet, no doubt,
But Alice had to do without
Freedom of choice, which we enjoy,
Just because she wasn't born a boy.
I sometimes think of days gone by
And give a sentimental sigh,
But then I recall the price they paid!
Give me today!
 Girls have it made!


An intriguing photograph, deserving consideration.
What do you make of this little mystery?
A soldier seemingly escaped from some mad conflagration!
A piano where a piano shouldn't be!
Did some refugee start fleeing with the piano on his back
And find it was impossible to carry?
Did he fall behind the others as they walked the woodland track?
Did they plead with him and say he must not tarry?
Did it break his heart to leave it in the woods, to age and rot?
Did he cast some backward glances as he left?
Did he then flee with the others, all in fear of being shot?
And was his heart forever quite bereft?
Perhaps this soldier was a man with intellect and soul;
Perhaps he slipped away to ease his mind.
Perhaps he was revolted by his ghastly war-like role;
Perhaps this piano was a wondrous find.
What did he play, I wonder, as he stood there in the glade;
Maybe 'Chopsticks' was all that he could play.
But two hearts were united in the forest's leafy shade,
The soldier's and the man who ran away.

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