There’s a piano in the corner;
It’s lonely tonight.
It thinks that it’s worthless,
Sitting there without a player,
And it’s one joy in the world,
Making notes flow
Through open ears and minds,
Making the people dance,
And be merry,
But the music won’t come.

It sits there in the home,
Waiting for a master,
To play through its scales,
To run his hand over its keys,
To make it feel warm,
And precious,
And cherished as is.
But the master is gone,
Leaving it to grow dust.

The master left long ago,
Jumping the train to Chicago
To go where the real talent lies,
Where other pianos play,
Nicer tones and smoother melodies,
Where he can make a new life,
Among the stars and the bars,
Leaving behind all the old.

So the piano sits there,
And out of sympathy,
I go to it,
And play a few notes.
Not like the master would,
But still better than none,
And it says a happy
“Thank you”,
As I run my fingers down the keys