In a room bathed in soft moonlight's grace, A piano sits, an instrument of embrace. Its ivory keys, a timeless dance, Echoing melodies, a sweet romance.
Fingers caress, like whispers in the air, A symphony born from the pianist's care. Black and white, in harmonious blend, A tale of music, from start to end.
Wooden frame, a guardian of sound, Notes in the silence, beautifully profound. From gentle lullabies to storms that roar, The piano's language, forevermore.
Each key a door to a world untold, A language of emotions, stories unfold. Majestic chords and delicate trills, The piano's magic, a cure for ills.
In the hush of night or the day's bright gleam, The piano's song is a timeless dream. A vessel of passion, joy, and woe, A companion in solitude's soft echo.
So let the piano sing its song, In melodies tender, bold, and strong. A poet in wood and ivory, A symphony's heart, forever free.
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