I wish we could be friends
Every single day
I wish you’d let me hold your hand
Just so I could play
I wish your skin was not mottled with the yellow of old age
But I suppose you think it’s nice to be old, worn, and gray

It shows the love we have for you
By we, I mean your students
The hours and hours we have tried
The devotion, the practices, even the lies
To rehearse what you must say
To make the audience sigh
Sometimes, I think, forgive me, you enjoy the teasing you put us through
It makes us more disciplined, the master says,
Although we do believe the master may not be so shrewd

One day, it seems, you thoroughly detest me
The next, I’m your dearest and closest friend
When will you make up your mind, O piano
Will my misery ever be at an end

I say I do not like you, perhaps the feeling is mutual
that your eighty-eight keys of black and white do disgust me to no end
But, alas, it is not true, I really should plan the nuptials
For we will never be parted, not even when I am near dead
You will be sitting there, waiting, gathering dust but still lovely
Although I may get mad, you’ll always be the one
Who sets my heart
All afluttery