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The Pianist

The Pianist

By Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik

A soft sound hovers through the corridor

And hops down the stairs to the hall

As I arrive home and i know it must be him Playing;

The man I love; conquerer of my heart, My soul

And soon my body: Not to worry for I - in my way-

Too conquer His: his heart, his soul and soon his body.

The music he plays is soft and perfect


We think that'll be the name of our child


If we have a girl,

But if we have a boy

We're not quite sure what to call him,




Have all been thrown around,

But we havent decided yet,

I guess we shall know when I see him,

If i see him, we might have a girl.

But not to worry, that shant happen for a while.

I nervously place my bag down,

And follow the music up the stairs Tiptoing in my heels,

Until i realise what It is my love is playing,

Moon River,

Softly upon the old piano in his room,

Our room now,

Where i write and paint while he plays,

Piano, and sometimes I sing with it.

I tilt my head to look through the door

And watch for a moment as he plays

And slowly he finishes as I walked Behind him

And place my hand

On his shoulder and kissed his neck.

We’re after the same Rainbows end.

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About The Author
Mitzi Danielson-Kaslik
About This Story
9 Aug, 2019
Read Time
1 min
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