The Tune of G… a poem

black and white blur close up fingers
Photo by Pixabay on


Why does he think in the tune of G?

While his piano echoes across the room.

Rhythm and time, sequentially,

How sweet to the ear, his tune.


Finger cymbals and tambourines,

Bow to the talented hands.

As each note played pulls at our heart-strings,

In the story, performed by this man.


Beethoven and Bach and Mozart too,

Would surely listen in awe.

The perfection of fingers alive in a dance,

No hesitation, no thought, no flaw.


If colors were sounds in nature’s great scheme,

Surely, that Mother would smile with delight.

To observe a mere mortal playing one of her themes,

Like a rainbow that shines through the night.

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