practicing
there was a time
I’d pound those keys
morning noon and night
making music in my sleep
hoping one day they’d be
translated into poetry
they kept telling me
people love you
and of course
I believed them
like morning dew
believes in rising sun
piano in bay window
hasn’t been played
since god knows when
sparrows still perching
on old crabapple
remembering
october two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
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