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The Piano

Here I am in the park asleep,
Dreaming of things that might have been.
Down am I, and passers peep,
And maybe wonder what things I’ve seen.
 
Sleeping in an old jaguar car,
In wastelands on the road afar.
I find a book, and within look,
To see that it is a music book.
 
Next night when at the SA Home,
I try and try to decipher tone.
But the old piano that is out of tune,
sounds out a desperate hone.
 
But with persistence
I overcome these notes before me on the page.
And learn to transfer them into tone,
And soon I am respected for my own.
 
Some years later, all things have changed,
The keyboard now is my creed.
As many pieces I now proceed
to play for others and so succeed.
 
Now in Black Tuxedo, standing at the bar.
Fans surround me, they come from far.
To listen to the sounds I make,
Now respected and much income I take.
 
But not forgetting those times now past,
Support for those who did not last,
Cannot uptake for their own sake,
Those things to a better future make.

(2005)

Note: Perhaps a rags-to-riches story is this poem I wrote about a tramp that makes it, but there is something else here in these words..

#Hobo #Piano #RagsRiches #To #Tramp

Other works by Richard Walker...



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