The Piano And The Violin

Poem By Roy Whitman

Black keys, white keys.
Straight in a row.
Whimsical tunes
Do come and go.
Silence now, not a sound.
Boys and girls dance around. Four strings, a bow.
Rounded curves and a scroll.
Playful concertos
Do crash and roll.
Silence now, not a sound.
Boys and girls dance around.

Comments about The Piano And The Violin

There is no comment submitted by members.

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of ROY WHITMAN

Ode To Italy

Italy land that I love. Italy land of my dreams.
Italy where the art of Florence is quite a sight.
Italy land where the isle of Capri shines bright.
Italy where the cities of Milan and Naples do bustle.


An Old World. A New World.
Five hundred years hence. Christopher Columbus sets sail.
With all the Universe in suspense. A white man. A red man.
A tragedy apart. Disease strikes. Tears flow.

Tragedies At War

The bugles call, the trumpets blow, the fife and drum join in.
The young men they all jump to arms while mothers' tears begin.
It's fine to see this brave display of men in rank and file.
Despite the cannon, shot, and smoke that reign the land with hate,