She sits by me all the time
And forever she will play,
My ivory and wooden keys
In the most beautiful, special way.
For I know by her touch on
My soft keys how she's feeling,
If the day's been hard
Slow gentle tunes she'll be playing.
On happy days when nothing
Could possibly go wrong,
Her fingers dance across my keys
Till the end of the happy song.
With little patience I wait
Every day for her to come home,
To play my music
That she creates on her own.
I might make just music
To please some people's ears,
But I think I am more of a friend
Than an instrument to her.
-April Tomblin Clark
My beautiful sister wrote this poem and gave it to me when I was in high school.
It could not be more perfect.
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