The persistent beat
Of leaves crunching at my feet
Serves as introduction to the piece
Hear wind gently playing
It gets the branches swaying
Creating mood to set oneself at ease
The tinkling of my keys
Echoes on the breeze
Inspiration starts a cardinal singing
These instruments come alive
As if they're hep to the jive
And very soon the woods are swinging
My pace begins to slow
Bringing the volume low
Pushed along by the beating in my chest
Keys held in my hand
We sadly reach the end
As my feet finally come to rest
B. Alan Hart
Written 11-3-2013
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