She sneaks upstairs to the dusty, creaky attic,
Parents bid her not to go up there,
But she cannot resist….
Her soft, pink hands arrange themselves,
On the shiny keys of the ancient grand piano,
Tiny hands begin to amble back and forth,
Orchestrating a masterful tune.
Hypnotized by the music,
The song grows faster,
She can no longer control herself.
As she wanders through the room,
Airy and weightless,
Her faded vibrations ring in the ears of her parents,
They scramble upstairs and burst through the door,
But she cannot be found,
For the song has ended.