On really awfully sad notes …

My pianos are good friends
That I have had for countless years
But every era ends,
And though it costs me floods of tears,
I must accept the spot
Which we’ll soon have to occupy
Just hasn’t got a lot
Of space for pianos to lay by. 

The pain-oh! will be sharp
That those won’t go into the flat;
I’m crotchety, a harp
Is also too strung up for that;
A minim-mum of space
One quavers that they need, to breve,
And, in new airless place,
Of airs, enough, they won’t receive. 

 

On scales of one to ten,
Arpeggios I’ll miss, a five,
The other half will, then,
Consist of keeping trills alive,
Plonks, too, I’ll miss, I think –
Those in the works of Ludwig B –
And that I cannot plink
On topmost notes from A to G! 

 

Two octaves, at a stretch,
And chords, I can no longer play,
One octave I can fetch
My violin to do; OK?
While violins play two
Of notes of many given kinds,
Recorders can get through
One note a time, is what one finds. 

My clarinet, as well,
Is limited to single tones,
Although, I have to tell,
It can give squeaks and groans and moans!
While that does have a range
From way down low to high up high,
The volume can derange,
And irate neighbours start a cry! 

A keyboard – one I fold –
Might be the answer to my plight;
With that I can make bold
To play full blast, by day or night,
Provided that I wear
A set of headphones while I do,
Or else I wouldn’t dare,
Such agony, to put folks through! 

So farewell to my pair
That gave me sounds of such delight;
I hope they go to where
They’ll still give music light and bright;
And yet within my mind
I’ll hear the sounds that they both made,
So solace I will find,
Although by me no longer played.

© Colonialist June 2014 (WordPress)