The Baby Grand Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

THE BABY GRAND

The black baby grand,
Caressed by a slender finger,
By a young, red-haired’s fair, small hand,
(With her russet curlicues in a bow)
Emits cadences that languishing, linger
From the royal nook of the lady’s parlor,
Where she gazes through the stained-glass window
Upon the florid, turquoise harbor;
(A wave ascends, then reels,
Circling down to the watercress.)
Her patrician dress
(One might confess)
While modest, reveals
Her soft, lavish knees,
Where lilac-scented harmonies
Ring from that medieval chamber,
Out into the garden below,
Through the half-open, bluish panes,
Where the dahlias, slumbering, waver
Now to and fro, now high, now low,
Kissed by those amber, ghostly strains.