Mistress Of Ivory Poem by Amanda Jackson

Assuredly, she sits. Her fingers, short but agile,
Find their place among the glistening ivories.
Each, with their ebony crowns pull melodies from the air.


From the hands of this artist are harmonies composed.
Eyes, like portals to her spirit, reflect no cause, for in this moment she is
Not her own. Through the air she dances, hand in hand with melody.
From the soul of this musician flows her masterpiece.