Margaret was more than a family friend;
She also taught me to play the piano.
Once in while she'd have me sing,
When I was still a kid soprano.

I wasn't a gifted piano player.
In fact, I was far from it.
And the stage fright at recitals:
I never could overcome it.

I never practiced as much as I should have,
Which was obvious in my playing.
I'd never become a concert pianist.
That, of course, went without saying.

Yet Margaret never scolded me
Whenever I came unprepared
To my weekly piano lesson--
A little nervous, a little scared.

I would play an exercise
And utterly butcher the innocent piece.
"That one needs a little more work,"
She'd say. Then my fears would cease.

I studied with her for many years--
From childhood through my early teens.
My lessons were not a means to an end;
The end was entirely the means.

Spending time on the piano bench
With Margaret on a chair by my side
Is ingrained in my heart:
Time spent with my mentor and guide.

Instilling the love of music in me,
She was definitely my muse.
Music is a life-changing gift--
A blessing I hope never to lose.

I learned that life can bring happiness,
But also times of sadness and loss.
Margaret developed a brain tumor.
There'd be a river of sorrow to cross.

How could such a wonderful person--
And talented, too--capitulate
To illness? Then I faced the truth:
Cancer doesn't discriminate.

When Margaret died, to me all music
Sounded like a dolorous dirge.
But with time, the glorious sounds
Slowly began to reemerge.

She had taught me so much more
Than how to plunk on piano keys.
How sad it would be if ever the wondrous
Notes faded from our memories.

Music's a powerful force in our lives.
Without it I wonder where we would be.
There's one thing that I know for certain:
Margaret will always be music to me.

- by Bob B