Milenka would sit,
ticklish for ivory,
waiting in school
until that bell rang,
a B minor to her ear
and she could bolt anticipatedly
from the red bricks of classes
to the rosewood piano,
yellowed keys worn slightly
.
Mendel was her supper,
but papa loved Tzaichovsky
He would say, me petite ange
play me the 12 seasons
I crave to be warm, so, for March
play the song of the lark
.
and so, guided by his gentle hands,
she began to dance amongst the strings
F sharp to D major,
Pomp and Circumstance to Flight of the Bumblebee
all adapted for the pianist's hand
and attuned to her feeling
.
For a morality to this tale,
I merely offer the following,
when young, enjoy the little pleasures,
and learn language well, mathematics and musics,
be major in your minor
and shape the world for the future