(terza rima)

While once a lad and kindergarten small,
at end of class one day in grammar school
I heard a piano playing in the hall.

A peek revealed a man astride a stool,
but there were none about to me explain
the tuning fork and crooked lever tool.

Immersed in full within his rapt domain,
his face tightlipped as tho’ it were a mask,
he tapped anew that dissonant refrain.

In youth, I did not dare approach to ask
why the endless playing and correction.
His work, back then, did seem a futile task.
- - -
I now realize, upon reflection,
here was a mortal who sought perfection.

❀