One key after another,
not pressed, but played
out.
An enchanting song,
on a dusty piece of wooden beauty
that's been shunned for years,
because no one thought
they had the proper fingers
to rightfully appease the poor thing.
One day, there just wasn't enough
of anything.
The little green paper had slipped
from the pockets to which it rightfully belonged,
because dishonest fingers
learned their trade well.
The piano slipped
from everyone's grasp likewise.
To shed a tear for a simple dollar,
because that's the
appropriate way to go about things.
There was no more humming of music,
not even that from the ghosts
that sat over the
piano
during it's weary years.
There was nothing but a slight
small table with flowers on it,
like the flowers would cry
and sing the piano's final song
and tears.