Cabin Poem by Morgan Michaels

Outside, the lake
laughed a depthy green
behind nine square panes;
scored by a pier
tied to which a rowboat
moored in the shallows
bobbed on until,
an amicable tomorrow.

Jutting its profile
from a pine-wood wall
a buck's head looked down
calmly, steadily,
its glassy eyes aglow
in the failing light
taking in all
they did or might do.

Not that they minded,
being too busy, far-
the little boy and girl-
coaxing ancient airs
from the factory
of a dusty player-piano-
oak-stained and upright,
mysterious and dark.

Feeding it tattered scrolls
upon yellowed scroll
of fenestrated piano rolls
dumped to the floor
from the storage drawer
of an equally dark bureau,
pumping with all their might-
laughing and singing along:


'The Whole World Is Singing My Song'