{This is the piano I now know. I let my mother's piano go, it's bridge was cracked beyond repair; and so I play my pieces here, where...one by one, I turn my worry into fun.} 

Music In A Poem

Old tin cake pan, old wooden spoon
before long we’re learning a simple tune

Together we sing little primary songs
which grow to chorus practice all night long

Clarinet, violin, piano, harmonica
strung like beads of bright zirconia

Sparkling out these brilliant tones
someone else’s or just my own

Today I cloak in musical beauty
when hands can’t work, when eyes can’t see
when my face no longer looks like me
when earth’s blender speed is stuck on whip
when news and knowing I must choose to skip
when sense no longer makes itself,
and the world’s woes I can not help,
gorgeous voices, many violins
fill my awareness to the brim
with all the music I can fit in.

Remember our voices we always carry,
so let our songs be our sanctuary.

~~ djl 11/26/24