A Note of Key

A steaming in the room, 

enfolding in it the peach, rose pink of a late afternoon. 

Walls dusted in a flurry, a sugaring of treat. 

But in the center! 

A sheet, illuminated in the heat.

Gone with a flourish, a blizzard of late Winter, 

the keys are shown once more. 

Oh, black on white, what a lovely sight! 

A creaking of the bench, 

a transition of thought, 

one must seek a clenching note. 

The piano stood stronger than ever,

then I wrote. 

Author's Note

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