Serenity

You can hear the sweet sound
That her small hands make
When they are one
With the instrument.

She stumbles on the notes
Every once in a while,
Her fingers going back
To get it just right.

The sound, the feeling,
The satisfaction that only
The music can bring-
Keeps her fingers to the keys.

The years of lessons have paid off,
Have allowed her to discover
A talent-a talent that brings
The praise of adults.

But it is more than that.
It is melody. It is daydreams.
It is another place
To be in.

Yippee!!!

I just recieved notification that one of my poems may be published in a gift book. The editor said that she likes my work and encourages me to submit more. Those are the sweetest words a poet can hear!

Exodus

Her room I used to call a “sight”,
With piles everywhere;
I’d accept it now without complaint,
If only she were there…

Her clothing hung in closet row,
In colors she admired;
But now the closet pole is bare,
The walls look plain and tired.

The bedclothes used to shift and fall,
And hang upon the floor;
Her room is now abandoned…
She doesn’t live there anymore.