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The Art Of Making Music

Let your digits slide across my black keys

Hear my highest octave at your fingers’ speed

Scales, concerto, and don’t forget the arpeggio

Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do

Breathe wind into all of my shyest spaces

And you can hear me whistle in the loudest of places

Hold me tight; don’t let me slip

Let my reed rest on the tip of your lip

Feel my smooth skin vibrating as we meet

Can you feel the strength of me with each beat?

Pound me softly or slap me quick

Use your hand in place of sticks

Or you can strum my strings in a thousand ways

I might add, I love the way you play

Cradle my body as if we were one

Acoustically, my love, my job here is done

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