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, And one-of-a-kind. 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 … Continue reading 1858 Steinway Square Piano
Tag: New York poetry
This door keeps out the sounds of the hallway. This door can hear every word uttered here. This door demands our attention when slammed. This door swings on its hinges, rusted. This door's in tune with the walls at its sides This door speaks not, but listens carefully. This door relies on its framing, unsplintered. … Continue reading This Door
