My hands are dried and calloused
From farm work –boiled and bruised
Bring your soft immaculate fingers
And balm this pain away
With ten kisses of tender touch.
My mind is boggled to a pulp
All these worries are wrought
again those pale ghostly fingers,
drives away all the demons of yore-
with music softly and quietly,
over desert dust, oceans and rivers,
from trusty piano keys to a waiting heart.
My fingers ink stained and candle-wax burnt
stay up moving in a nightly silence
Filling pages with my emptiness
But your lovely fingers sacred and true
Those graceful ten maidens
All made it to the divine wedding
With their lamps oiled alight
Dancing upon the ivory and ebony keys
Celebrating the marriage of music to beauty.