Here

The piano sits still in the corner of the room, gathering dust. Just yesterday its beautiful tunes loom, It didn't last. I remember the musical mornings, When your hands rolled the white and black, creating sounds that were astounding, Tunes were one thing you never lacked. I miss those evenings, When the smell of coffee, And taps of my typewriter, rhymed with your beautiful bravado. Now what remains, a thin falsetto, A sound so soft yet lingering, wanting to be heard, no one's listening. On days like these, When the heart longs like a disease, I remember the hugs from behind as I wrote, I remember the times I spent in the parlor, looking at you play in all your splendor. Really, that was your first love. I miss the sounds of the sweet piano, And the seldom songs of a discordant soprano Please be back soon.