On the plastic bulletin on the wall of school
Inquiries were being done to sell her harpsichord?
She had stated to me, that she hated them, her last one
Given as a gift to the university, a handcrafted one costing her a bundle.
Looking toward the back room was her baby grand
With huge microphones coming to the metal wires, she would play
For her friends at a birthday luncheon.
The student there came out from the back
When she heard “mandolin” and said her father loved playing it
The harpsichord seller was a old stocky lady needing a violinist and
A very large pink birthday cake to place in her open dinning table.
The husband looked in a very anti festive mood and left slamming the door!
She had gone to the university making inquiries for a violinist
But there had been no talk of compensations, though knowing
More notes than the instrument can ever play?
She was very upset the pen she signed to sell her harpsichord
Wrote only in green and wished for a black which had quickly arrived!
I had told her that I was always been into Glen Gould
As she quickly rushed us to the door with a mighty clang.
The harpsichord stood there in the empty room,
As no glimmer of light enter from the enclose,
It stood silent for some person to play in lost reveries
In an open room full of light, thru inspiration of days.
