Beneath My Fingers

Beneath my fingers,
The piano keys sing.
They yearn for freedom,
For the music I can make.

Beneath my fingers,
They tremble with desire.
They yearn to be played,
For the notes to be heard.

Now, beneath my fingers,
The violin strings hum.
They too, long for freedom.
They long to sing today.

And my fingers are resting
On the keys of a flute,
Which is ready and waiting
To sing, to make music.

Beneath my fingers,
A whole world is singing,
Humming, waiting.
It yearns for freedom.

Beneath my fingers
Is music.

The End

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