The Old Piano

An Old Piano

I found it in the street.
Seems no one had time for music anymore.

There was a cat
sleeping under the keys.

I pushed it home,
put it in the hall.
The keys were worn,
the wood faded.

But when I pressed the keys,
it poured out light:
into the room,
into my eyes,
into my mind.

I saw the ghosts
of Saturday night.
singing,
dancing,
pouring heart
and
soul
through the keys.

And Sunday morning,
comedown,
slow and sad.

Life’s lived,
still echoing.

I sat at the piano.
Time for a new song.
Time for our song.

Let the notes dance again.





(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon