Piano Pieces

OLD PIANO IN THE WOODS

poem by Tommy Little (from Brandon, MS, January 2024)

Someone left it here for nature to play,

this old grand piano beneath the trees.

The lid, now warped from sun, rain, and snow,

is propped open to the elements that play

their slow decomposition and the wind that

strums a discord of slackened strings.

Years of freeze and thaw have stolen the

ivory and ebony tops and left faded blue

remnants of the keys.  It has collected a

decade of fallen leaves, inside and out.

They dance to the beat of acorns as a squirrel

scampers a trickle of sour notes across the keys.

The veneer is now a faded brown, cracked

and lifting.  Moss and lichen have taken up

residence in the fissures and continue to press

and widen their abode.  Tangles of honeysuckle

ascend the legs.  They will soon invade the body

and choke the last somber notes of the wind.

I sit on the weathered stool and reverently strike

a mute dirge upon the keys, the audience of shedding

hardwoods now silent.  I become part of this piece,

this decomposition; the song of nature, entropy,

and the defiant march of time not yet complete.