I sit alone and wonder why
she never stops to just say "Hi".
She quickly, quietly passes me by as if
I've been suddenly exempt from her life.
We used to be so close,
she'd play me when she was lonely.
Her friends have taken my place
and now I sit here waiting.
My keys are old and dusty
I have begun to age.
My chords are merely memories
our songs are begining to fade.
Oh, how I wish she
would play me but once more!
If not just for old times sake!
Every time she enters her room,
I quietly sit there...
hoping and praying that she'd come
and play me just once more!
If ever she found the courage
to walk up to me and play,
I'd play a song that would never end;
hoping to remind her that I'm still her friend
even though she's tossed me aside...
I sit alone and wonder why
she never stops to just say "Hi".
She quickly, quietly passes me by as if
I've been suddenly exempt from her life.
Comments
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Hi, D of C.
This verse says just about the same things my own piano says to me almost every day, and it speaks for that beautiful instrument very well. Often, just as your verse says, I walk right by the keyboard, but still look at it and wonder when I'll just simply sit down to play with it again, or let it play with me. Sometimes that happens when I sit down for "only a few minutes" to practice some chords or scales, and an hour later I'm still playing. That's pleasant when it happens.
I like the repeat of the first stanza as its closing stanza; this gives the poem the feel of a song's refrain, just right for a poem about music.
I wonder if stanzas three and four might be combined somehow, as they seem to nearly repeat themselves. But even without any changes, your plain expression of a lonely piano as a missed friend is just what I'd expect to read from a teenager who apparently loves music. Nice going!
Lad
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