My old, worn out
piano- scratched and faded,
blanketed by a light layer
of dust in the corners.

The end keys stick
from laying
seldom touched, the
middle ones overplayed

so as to strain the
chords that now sing a tad off,
the sound slightly muffled by
the pounding down of the keys.

The right pedal loose as
the wings of a fluttering butterfly,
the left as stiff as a
sleeping iguana.

And yet it stands.

For the elderly couple who sits
morning after morning
at the corner coffee shop’s table,
drinking their coffee-
black with a touch of cream
and spoonful of sugar.

For the flowering
giant oak tree in the yard
that provides cool shade even
on the hottest days
of summer.

For the faded brick
church on main street,
a shiny pebble in a row of rocks,
painted with ivy, chipped
at the edges but still
standing tall.

Let the piano be old,
but let it be beautiful
and full of
character.

Let it sing the songs
that have come and gone through the years, and let it stand still
for the future hands that seek
to play an art
appreciated by ears.

And let it stand there
in its
beautiful age.