O’ fingers so blessed and anointed,
how gentle, how feeble
are you on the teeth of the piano —,
the soft voice of elevated sound,
the scent of music wafting
through mute-listening clouds
and to the chords of the soul!
The essence of all this is to light up
the dark caverns of a distressed Testament.
The life of the piano player rests on the golden
Plaque of current myth.