His fingers…

Whose are these digits so decimal
Owning the piano board,
Displaying efforts most minimal
Melodies dipped and soared?
These ten slaves of organic talent
Labouring most distinguish’dly
Awakening harmonies once silent
Cacophony stilled extinguish’dly?

The same workers of high fidelity
Follow their master to the wood
To range steel wires so slickingly
And coax out blue or golden mood;
They strum so soft and twang so strong
They scramble each tab and chord,
They pluck out tune and breaking song -
The guitars call him lord!

Oh let me an instrument
To tremble beneath his rule;
Let me ring out his testament -
Be it kind or cruel!
Ah let him want to play me
And make me do his will;
Let him pound or thrum me-
I want no other thrill!

(composed on 27/7/09 celebrating Robert's piano skills and pandering to some of my Pattin-angels love for Rob's finger-porn!)