Grand
but small in compare
to the Great Hall
in which it staunchly stood there
not even in mahogany brown
had its white keys been played
in numerous harmony
day by day.
.
Until
by chance
music from the heart
was brought out by strings
and made a work of art
would it give birth
to destiny’s wings
and with eight notes
could it finger
the earth’s ring,
hitting sharps,
perusing majors
at soul’s fancy and whim,
plucking out each change;
one’s joy and sin.
.
And still it stands
for whomever may stay
to hear the notes of their life
struck out
until tomorrow’s today.
……….and the magic, you ask??
well, I cannot say
for,
really,
to know,
you must,
simply,
play.
Copyright of Jessica Anne McLean, 2008, all rights reserved.
Dedicated to the grand piano in Taylor University’s Dining commons (of which this poem is written about), where some monumental magic happened in my life.
The Rose 
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