Soft moonlight’s grace

In a room bathed in soft moonlight’s grace,
A piano sits, an instrument of embrace.
Its ivory keys, a timeless dance,
Echoing melodies, a sweet romance.

Fingers caress, like whispers in the air,
A symphony born from the pianist’s care.
Black and white, in harmonious blend,
A tale of music, from start to end.

Wooden frame, a guardian of sound,
Notes in the silence, beautifully profound.
From gentle lullabies to storms that roar,
The piano’s language, forevermore.

Each key a door to a world untold,
A language of emotions, stories unfold.
Majestic chords and delicate trills,
The piano’s magic, a cure for ills.

In the hush of night or the day’s bright gleam,
The piano’s song is a timeless dream.
A vessel of passion, joy, and woe,
A companion in solitude’s soft echo.

So let the piano sing its song,
In melodies tender, bold, and strong.
A poet in wood and ivory,
A symphony’s heart, forever free.