By Andrew R. Duckworth
There’s a grace to those notes.
Maybe or maybe not a grace note,
Smooth and flowing like a pleasant wind
Breezing it’s way through pastures.
A soundtrack through the clouds,
Rising, lifting the feet off the ground
And off we all go soaring.
If I was not conscious of my chair,
Of the stage or piano there,
I might think myself kept by loving skies
But I open my eyes
As the piano plays,
The musical score for more and more