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a poem

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I read this last night and it gave me goose bumps since I am a pianist. Cam

The Pianist

Gnarled fingers of hands

that were once beautiful

fondle the yellowed keys.

When no one is listening,

she randomly strikes

a few dissonant notes.

Sometimes, I have to turn away

to keep from weeping

at her altered state.

But then, I see

the grey, wrinkled rface smile

as chords, precise and graceful,

drop from her hands

like ripened plums.

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