One-hundred five, my grand piano sings
its songs to me and I relax from tight
tensed muscles. Beethoven can soothe and light
dark skies of sadness, unwind all the strings

that hold me like a vise. Perhaps I seized,
or someone said an unkind word that hurt.
Instead of fragrant blossoms I knew dirt,
heard aggravating voices as they teased.

My fingers run up, down the keyboard, play
my favorites, and I notice how this calms
me. Music offers needed gifts of balms.
I rub that lotion in when days turn gray.