My Paper Piano

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My paper piano
So small upon the shelf
My tiny melody
It plays in magnified silence
On white and purple keys
Vibrating its polished stool
Of the highest, unreachable shelf
I had no black felt-tip
To trace the rows of lines
And it’s origami folds
Crease and wrinkle
Pull and rip
Over time
Dilated stains
From my china cup
Of Russian tea
Remain
Dried years ago
By dappling sun
My heart is held
Within its mournful song
A song born
From the same as the
Velveteen Rabbit’s
Lonesome call





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