Don't Give up Music for Notes

I softly fingered black-white keys, I could not press a tune. So I’d just watch as They would play, the fingers dipping clouds of white like mist in valleys come to frolic here. A hundred years it stood – now more. And I convinced myself that it would never sing for me. And then a bow was placed in my right hand, and I was told to read the notes. Oh how I missed the clouds of white. In time I learned to read the circles – it wasn’t song to me. But I just screeched the metal knife (and just as sharp!) across the strings. Too soon the miles of West Virginia sky glide by and we arrived to sleeting rain and Mount Rainier as I wrote singing-songs to pass the time. The houses, years, they floated by like streams. Then quickly I went out to learn some mysteries. Like names of chords and tones that lead and ways to jazz. I once haphazardly began to trip, then I discovered those. Those notes I still detest, make no mistake. I once began to play for them and not for you. But now I’m back, my friend, just keep on showing me the way until I wend.