I sat as rigid as a stone,
Of my song I began to think,
Embracing the song's hunting tone,
And soon the keys begin to plink,
My hands are flying o'er sleek white keys,
Begging "Attention if you please!"

Racing as a mouse from a cat,
Always staying one step ahead,
My fingers curved and never flat,
Nerves building, cheeks flushed bright rose red,
Black glistening upon each touch,
White keys played in a growing rush.

The cat pursuing its small prey,
The mouse before the cat does flee,
But the chimes shall clang as they say,
"Midnight is here, to bed with thee."
The chase is at a pause for now,
But the small mouse has yet to bow.

Blood was drawn to practice each day,
Hours and hours upon the black bench,
I sat there and had to remain,
Ripping off my thumb's soft pale flesh,
In the end it was worth the pain,
One day, the cat shall chase again.