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by Maria Reed-Shore
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She was a prodigy
A pianist, stroking the ivory keys
With ease and grace
A task, she mastered
With dexterity
Making the notes come alive
With discipline and finesse
To share her talents, with the multitude
Why could she not touch his heart
The love she felt
Did not mean a thing to him
The conductor, busy with his art
Did not notice the rapture
That she felt within
To do her task with proficiency
His love was in his fame
The passion displayed
Was for the music he felt
She played a part
That was
Fulfillment to his need.


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