with its broken legs
and yellowed teeth
i found what was left
of that old piano.

but tapping keys
don't mean a thing
compared to the voice
that could sing these songs.

sometimes when you listen
real close
you can hear the piano
cry
for its gift has been
taken-
its beauty has been lost.

sometimes i wonder
what happened to
that old piano
as i brush my hands
across its faded wood.

sometimes i think
i'd rather leave than stay
and look at that piano
for it's teeth tell stories
of songs and tunes
which sadden me
because i know
that the people
and the piano will
play no more.