Shelley Hornsby


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Best Poem of Shelley Hornsby

The Piano

Father burned the piano last night.
Ordered it out of the house under
The strain of a regiment of men.
Strong arms lifted the iron stung boards
As they carried it down
To the field, and all I could hear
Was the deathly sound
Of a funeral march thumping
Out the pitiful silence in my ears.
I stood there watching as it burned,
Perched precariously on the pyre.
Last bugle call accompanying
The passage of its rights.


Silence met the sparks that flew
And spat with its last farewell.
And I, with childhood's tears,
Stood there and ...

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