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Broken Keys

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In an old consignment shop,
I searched for a surprise.
And as I walked around,
A single thing caught my eyes.
A beautiful piano, 
Sat beneath the windowsill.
And as I sat there on it's bench,
My fingers began to trill.
I sat and played that piano. 
A long, long time ago.
I played and played for hours.
Until it was time to go.
I visited that instrument,
Of joy and pain and tears
That piano in the consignment shop,
From back so many years.
And when I went back this year,
I didn't know I'd find.
That my old piano,
Wasn't what I had in mind.
The keys were cracked or missing
And the tarnish almost gone.
It looked as though I had been,
Away for far to long.
I looked at the old piano. 
And decided what to do.
I sat down on the broken bench,
And played Handle's No. 2.
As my fingers graced those keys,
Off tune but without flaw.
That piano played my song,
And a passerby watched in awe. 
For what that person didn't know, 
But they found out that day.
Is that even a piano with broken keys,
Is a piano that will play.



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Whats.The.Purpose said...
Jan. 31, 2011 at 9:52 pm
Another good poem, about how you can't always judge a book by its cover. Or in this case piano and that, everything can create beautiful music if you just give it a chance.
 
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