Fickle Cupid

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Alas; his tickling fingers
……shall no more set my innards aflame,
…………pulling exquisite music from my hidden strings.
They have found a new tune to play.

It’s true I am humble,
……no graceful Steinway,
…………but I adored him all the same.
He said he loved my plinkety-plonk,
……then plumped for aristocracy, (plump being the operative word)
…………seduced by those sumptuous curves, and that persuasive lilt.
.I have been jilted.

Why does he want Miss Steinway?
……True, she sings kinda sweet, and her body may gleam
…………but it’s pretty near the size of a football team,
………………………………………………….…and she’s one leg short.

This upright piano may be poor,
……but I have four legs, and if you showed me an average door
…………at least I could fit through it…
………………………………………………..…as you saw.

I stand deserted in a forgotten room,
……gathering dust and spiders webs
…………beneath a leaky roof.
Raindrops take the place of his caress,
…….and they never hit the spot
…………where beautiful music is made.
The missing slate is above my A flat,
……leaving me longing…
……………maybe if you could move me a little,
the drips would work their way to the G.

Oh fickle cupid, bring him back;
I’m wilting from a damp attack.
Play me gently, soft and low,
then raise me to a cre-scen-do.

Written for Michelle’s Photo Prompt. This week’s image is a little bit naughty… or maybe it’s just my interpretation…

©Jane Paterson Basil

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