A Pianists’ Turmoil
My very own piano !
What a treasured sight !
Looking elegant and
stately,
Glistening keys of black
and white.
Oh my, I couldn’t wait,
To let my fingers dance,
On each and every ivory
key,
To let them glide and prance.
Where was that piano
teacher ?
Where, oh where, could she
be !
My lesson was to start at two,
And it was almost three.
I could not wait to see
her,
Sitting there so daintily.
Tickling, the ivory keys,
Then she bounded in the
door,
I looked at her, my
thoughts were,
As wide as my front door.
It would shatter to the
floor.
She plopped down on the
bench,
I thought I heard it groan.
“Come here sweetie and sit
by me.”
Where? I thought as I
walked,
She shifted her girth, and
patted
At a small spot by her
side.
She played a dandy little
tune,
And said, “You will play
like this
I gazed at the dancing notes,
In the book before my eyes.
I listened to what she said
She said to practice every
day,
As off the bench she
rolled.
The first month I practiced
hard,
I had to practice longer,
But, mom would place me on
my bench
“You have to practice for
an hour,
My fingers cramped from
pain,
The piano bench was made for looks,
And play with my best friend.
This torture would never
end.
I sat there on the dainty
bench,
The old maid, decked in
fur.
She really didn’t like me
much
Of course all of my
teachers
Sat there so calm and cool.
They sat there smiling at
me,
I knew they were like
hungry wolves,
Prone and ready to pounce,
On each and every mistake
I’d make
And drain me ounce for ounce !
But, I would show them all.
I would play my very best.
I would play with heart and
soul,
And pass each of their tests.
As they were shuffling out
the door,
I was proud to here them
say,
How beautiful she played !”
I glanced down at the keys,
Glistening black and white.
My mom and my piano teacher
Had of course been right.