My Music Man Poem by chris schwartz

His fingers glide across his keyboard,
Like the angels
Do
That glide over me.
Still thinks his gift
Bestowed to him
Is just photography.
Man, he's working too hard
His mind is on overload.
Think I'll bake a pie
From the orchard apples
Hell, that's all I know.

And I'll call it
Heavenly Pie.
That's what we are,
He and I.
A solid yummy crust,
Endulging too much,
An unforgetting slice
Of just the
Two of us.
That kind of love
Don't last too long.

Ahhh, the music man.
I hope he finds his way.
The world still longs for
What they will grieve
Someday.