In the morning before the day gets too distracting your piano’s at its very best.
Say Hello! to it with a scale or two. Nothing quite like the harmonic minor (in contrary motion – 3 octaves please) to get its hammers hammering, the pedals pedalling, and those black and white keys to skip under your fingers.
Bach today or shall it be Brahms? Gershwin maybe, or just a little Grieg? No matter what, they’re all your friends. Nice people composers, no trouble to anyone. All they do all day is sit in their studios and dream about music. Sometimes they write it down, carefully, measuring every note and rhythm for your piano to play before the day gets too distracting.
This poem comes from Twelve, a garland of poems for a twelve-year old's birthday.