My mother is a piano
A little out of tune
Dusty keys
That play with ease
Ivory as the moon
Sometimes I’ll touch the wood
And admire its antiquity
Think of all the things that it
Ever dreamed to be
Sometimes when my fingers
Fly through a song
I wonder how this piano
Ever got so strong.
My mother is a piano,
She makes music out of air,
She answers each finger
With an embrace, with care
Her legs planted firmly
in the ground
How much I love to hear
her deep, rich sound.
Jan 2, 2018
Jan 2, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
My mother is a piano
A little out of tune
Dusty keys
That play with ease
Ivory as the moon
Sometimes I’ll touch the wood
And admire its antiquity
Think of all the things that it
Ever dreamed to be
Sometimes when my fingers
Fly through a song
I wonder how this piano
Ever got so strong.
My mother is a piano,
She makes music out of air,
She answers each finger
With an embrace, with care
Her legs planted firmly
in the ground
How much I love to hear
her deep, rich sound.
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