Music is wine that fills the cup of silence

Her fingers long and tapered 

Skimmed over the keys

More like a caress on the cheek

Black and white alternating

Like an old man's teeth

Oblivious to her surroundings 

Played the notes from memory

Beethoven's fifth symphony 

Her fingers creating magic

As we listened rapturously 

Her classes no one missed

She was strict, disciplined

Known to throw out students

If they so much as giggled

In her class silence reigned 

Wanted so much to learn music

Parents couldn't afford the fees

Advised to concentrate on studies

In the long run, would be to my benefit 

So, I missed being a Pianist

To this day, whenever I hear 

Vibrations of the strings 

Of the eight eight piano keys

I regret not being given an opportunity 

To learn this art of creating music