He thumbed and fingered each key
He was delicate, teasing, and masterly
He was Debussy in the prelude- throbbing, urgent- febrile
Then he was Beethoven- thundering
Leaving me sated and tranquil
He was a pianist; I was his symphony
He played me like a piano- that was fine by me
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Great poem! Well done!