Practice, Practice, Practice
Keys beneath my fingers
Hitting notes I don't know,
as I practice the Piano
I sit alone, in light and dark
An empty chair to help spark
Some inspiration for me,
As I hit notes I do not know
And practice the Piano
He should have been here,
in that empty chair
Listening to me, and to inspire
as I hit notes I can not know
As I pretend to practice the Piano
Oh how I miss him so,
My father who sat be side me
In that empty chair
In light and dark
While I hit those notes and keys I did not know
and practiced the Piano.
A contest entry
- Flowers In Her Hair.... by poet2angels.
800 points, ended November 25, 2008, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Any suggestions?
Comments
-
Such a soft sadness to this ....
Beautifully written
TY for entering
Lynda
-
Our feet might have grown since, but our steps when we walked together with our parents remain same... as fresh and as small as ever.
A good memory
Adding your comment:
