88 keys

To hear
A fleeting lullaby
Embodied with love
One’s fingers kiss the keys
Lifts away as invisible strings
Tug on the knuckle bones

But in this world
Those of leisure must give
The price for life cannot be matched
With the desire to admire
Or even that of love.

White cloth laid
The plush, milky white chair
Pushed underneath
A table for picture frames and items

The memory of the glory
Escapes all minds
Save its true lovers

But even they
Could not coax
The warmth it had conjured long ago
As clumsy things take root
In what were once elegant fingers
The keys no longer wish to kiss;
Locked their beauty
Within themselves

No rich hues
Which so pleases the ears
Would come from
The deep colored magic box.

Henry Cheng
Age 12, Grade 7
Hunter College High School
Gold Key

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