SING ME A SONG 

moving piano keys

 

SING ME A SONG 

Sing me a song. 

Write a melody 

Of times gone by 

And moments lost in time. 

Stroke the keys. 

Massage the ivories. 

Raise your voice high 

So I can hear your words. 

Words of hope and loss. 

Sing them loud and clear. 

Stories of faraway places 

And times that are gone. 

I close my eyes. 

I can hear your words. 

I see your fingers 

Stroking the keys. 

The words take flight. 

They reverberate through time. 

They leave your lips 

To land on mine. 

A sweet melody 

To soothe my advancing years. 

A pretty song To fill my empty heart.

SING ME A SONG

 

SING ME A SONG

 

Sing me a song.

Write a melody

Of times gone by

And moments lost in time.

Stroke the keys.

Massage the ivories.

Raise your voice high

So I can hear your words.

Words of hope and loss.

Sing them loud and clear.

Stories of faraway places

And times that are gone.

I close my eyes.

I can hear your words.

I see your fingers

Stroking the keys.

The words take flight.

They reverberate through time.

They leave your lips

To land on mine.

A sweet melody

To soothe my advancing years.

A pretty song

To fill my empty heart.

THE PERFECT MELODY

 

 

draevendeluna

 

The air feels heavy,

laden with moisture.

Grey clouds hover

in the darkening sky.

The first raindrops arrive,

pounding on the rooftops

in a staccato melody of their own.

Pound, pound, pound.

Tap, tap, tap.

Rain washes our streets

and clears our minds,

preparing us for a new day.

ONE SONG

 

 

ONE SONG

 

Sing me a love song.

Rhyme me a sad tale.

The woe of heartbroken lovers

whose tinny cries take to the air.

The needle rides the grooves.

Round in a circle, it goes.

No beginning or end.

Like a tear that refuses to fall.

A song without an end.

The melody echoes through eternity.

One jump and scratch at a time.

ONE SONG

 

 

ONE SONG

 

Sing me a love song.

Rhyme me a sad tale.

The woe of heartbroken lovers

whose tinny cries take to the air.

The needle rides the grooves.

Round in a circle, it goes.

No beginning or end.

Like a tear that refuses to fall.

A song without an end.

The melody echoes through eternity.

One jump and scratch at a time.

PLAY ME A SONG

“Self Portrait with a Harp” (1791) (detail) by Rose-Adélaïde Ducreux (1761-1802).

 

Play me a song.

Don’t get me wrong.

 

I love your singing voice,

But the harp is my choice.

 

The music soothes my sad soul

From the day taking its toll.

 

I need the music today.

Please sit down with me and play.