The mallet strikes a key,

One resounding note.

The crowd grows silent,

Holding their breath.

 

 

 

A forty-five degree angle,

The mallets are still.

Then out of nowhere,

Starts a quiet trill.

 

 

 

A flurry of magical runs commences,

Paired with magical chords.

The melody consumes,

Captivating all those who listen.

 

 

 

A crescendo creates,

So much suspense.

Triple forte is reached,

With one last accented note.