I don’t have an extremely energetic beat,
I don’t have a particularly deep bass note.
My song is pleasant,
it is sweet
My rhythm is not the lyricist
or the part of the bold trombone.
My baseline is not the passion of the ever bouncing drums,
but maybe the thumping of the dancers foot.
My shouts are not the shrill of James Brown
or the enigma of Tom Waits.
I am not the electric guitar.
I am not the snare drum.
I am the secret whistle,
the subtle piano dancer.
Fluttering on top of the notes,
you might just miss me.
I am the melody
with a swinging heart.
One thought on “Piano Dancer”
Marigold, few people know themselves enough to, let alone, be able to poetically describe themselves. Pretty cool, and I believe accurate, work.