An object treated as one’s child

Their siblings taking care of it as if it was their younger sister

Cleaned every saturday morning along with the rest of the house

But taken extra good care of to ensure its used to its full potential

The instrument gets a check up every month 

Strings and springs oiled, tuned, and loved

So the therapy the keys provide never fades

A simple structure holds its parts

Glazed wood creates a home for its organs

The top holds memories and a metronome

The ivory, a bright white with a yellow tinge 

Holidays come and go with melodious tunes

coming from the other room

Families gather to listen to the children playing together 

all in perfect harmony

A new tradition that never gets old

Time passes and people grow up

It shows in their faces and keys

White hair and grooves

Wrinkles and stains

Still no dust covers the surface 

Children move away but it is still played often by parents 

Longing for the same sound they would hear at the same time of day

No more teachers to pay or hear discipline a wrong note

Silence has slowly grown over the years

Accidents happen and funerals proceed

People move out and memories are forgotten

But some things never change, or move

An abandoned house along with an abandoned child

A piano that once held fingers now holds only dust

Broken glass shattered ontop 

And a missing metronome to match it

Never tuned again or repaired

So it sits

Every saturday no one checks up on it

Every holiday it sits in silence, a tradition broken 

Or maybe the tradition found new keys

In another home

A new family, a new life 

with the same routine but this time

With a new Piano