The Piano Hound

Preaching is believing, they say

But I wonder how to wonder

And still I don’t know what’s real.

If your piano tells me more than my textbook

Does it know more?

Why do we need professors

When we have you, and

Do strings and parchment keys feel pain when you

Tap and pinch and hit

To make them sing?

The creaky old thing is baying like a hound

Beneath a moon or a racoon

But instead it cries out

To the pressure of your hands.

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