My Piano

by Eric Y. Theriault

On my Piano,
there is a vase;
of which its contents,
are in the wrong place.
For that rose you see,
was mean for you;
Its beauty I could not resist,
as it reminded me of you.
So I brought this Rose discreetly,
and awaited the right moment,
but I was as shy as could be,
and the time came and went.
And as if hadn't been enjoyed,
I sat it on my Piano's lid,
and played a soft Ballad;
All along thinking of you, and what if I did;
give that rose to you;
The growing of your smile,
the sparkle in your eye,
would have made it all my while.
eyt*