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.
About this poem
A lover's reminisce of the lovely days of the past. In another light, a colonies reminisce of old colonial days.... I don't do it much justice
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Written on September 30, 2022
Submitted by frederick_a on September 30, 2022
Modified on March 05, 2023
- 44 sec read
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Quick analysis:
Scheme | A |
---|---|
Characters | 818 |
Words | 147 |
Stanzas | 1 |
Stanza Lengths | 1 |
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"Here" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 20 Sep. 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/139440/here>.
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