Piano

Wiry fingers with short nails,
Trace over ivory keys,
A woman in a light colored dress,
Playing the piano
With ease.
Her name was Lydia Oblovatnaya,
And I hope you remember her play,
She held such song in her hands,
Its really hard to say.

Now that shes gone away,
Now that she has been buried,
Now that she will play no more songs,
And share no more duets,
So let us remember,
The woman who was a musician,
She was said to practice eight hours a day,
And she played with a fury,
Life was a jury,
And she left early,
On an average day,
And she left us,
We will not again hear her play.

*Not a poem meant to rhyme, or sparkle, but to remember someone who died.