Last few minutes
before I took up the pen
i think i was with her
my piano teacher...
i think because i am not sure
she had left the job many years ago...
but still on an evening such
i am sometimes reminded of her touch
on the reeds white and black,
and her heels on pedal making mild taps...
and she telling me stories
of princesses and wonderous fairies...
sometimes she would allude the tune
with a vision of a changing sand dune...
then another time she would not talk
her music set a vintage 1869 on rocks...
then there were times for her fingers to evoke
a scene from Alice in wonderland like a stroke
of paintbrush creating a scene...
she by her music strange things did bring...
once she taught me how waves of ocean could lap up
on the shores of our living room by music soft...
and then she showed me once a corn field
only by music how swayed and filled...
'Music' she told me once in a whispery tone
'should be felt and heard all alone...'
God knows what happened afterwards
I found music in every thing that appeared...
a tram making tring tring through the mist,
a cycle bell having pure music unleashed,
a ferryman calling his mate in rhythmic tone,
a clock ticking in a silent hall alone...
a boy mugging a multiplication table
of nineteen, with a musical feel...
i caught then on,music everywhere,
from piazza dante to college square...
i felt music forever like a downpour
on my head...heart... and I got lured...
to music and of course to her
my only one piano teacher...
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