I am an old piano
Born in Manhattan.
And with barely 70 keys, I still sit grand
But not a Grand Piano.
I’m ornate, it’s true,
A gift for a wealthy child at first
But he never played me.
I just sat in the corner of his room and looked pretty.
Over the years I’ve had many homes.
I resided in an orchestra pit for a spell.
In a jazz club too.
Art Tadum played me
And so did Thelonious Monk, and Oscar Peterson.
I sounded lovely for each of them
And always stayed in tune.
Around 1990, I was taken from my home
And placed on the second floor of a school.
I’m barely a piano anymore,
Encased in hard plastic or glass…
Look at me! Look at me!
Play me! Play me!