THE OLD PIANO

It stood in the antique shop, covered in dust,
The keys were yellow, the lock broken with rust,
An ornate pattern of a rustic Victorian scene
Was still gaudily there where it had always been.

The old man looked, could he believe his eyes!
Was that his mothers piano, her special prize,
The one he learned his scales on years ago?
His heart skipped a beat his face all aglow.

He ran his old fingers over the yellowed keys,
Oh, how that sound filled his soul with ease,
For it took him back to his childhood days,
He thought he heard his mothers words of praise.

“Well done Tom, now play it again, softer this time,
You know that has always been a favorite of mine.”
He played and played and folks flocked all around,
Listened to the old man play, his treasure he had found.

“I know this piano, it was my mother’s pride and joy,
I used to play it every day when I was just a boy,
I came home to say goodbye for I have not long to live,
But oh, for this old dusty piano what I would give.”

There were tears in the eyes of those who heard
The store keeper shook his hand spoke a gentle word,
“It cost me next to nothing, so you can have it friend,
Just pay for transportation, it will be with you at the end.”

The folks clapped, the old man played another song,
He paid for delivery, they would not keep him too long
Without his dear piano, to play the rest of his life through,
I’d love to find the home and hear him play, wouldn’t you?

M Ann Margetson © January 31, 2001
2001/1113Theoldp


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