MetersPrower

Black keys on white, side by side. Lining up, as far as my sight. Sitting there, by the chair. “This occurrence is rather rare,” I thought. The keys, they mock me, “Talent, you have naught.” “Though many which you have,” “Not of that, you have got.” Try as I may, A tune, I cannot play. Try as I might, It is just not right. Upon, the keys stare. “Leave us be!” “Leave us bare!” “Even if it is rare!” The keys, they forbade. The Chair, I forsake. A tune unheard, At this rate. White keys on black, side by side. This keys, I shall abide. “Never again,