By Hank Christian
Date: 2 October 2000
First Love, Neglected
Sitting silently, awaiting my caress
White on black, ivory worn and old
Quiet for the moment, she has been a friend
In moments of pain, in joy, in sadness and love.
A confidant of the soul
Who stands ready for my touch
Be it masterful stroke or misplaced note
She never judges my worth
As she takes pleasure in mere use
Returning the sound of joy with each stroke.
Though she calls me an artist in every pure tone and chord
It is I humbled by the process
As a new creation unfolds in sound
And I wonder,
As my ears are caressed by her golden waves
Does my touch vibrate through her keys and strings
Returning a measure of affection
And if so does she know that I love her
Every time I sit
And caress her ivory again?
10.01.00 *Hank*
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