A Dance With Chopin

i hate it when they mangle your bubbling notes at hotel lobby cafe, and parks when you have to give way to the staccatos of stilettos, tinkering of glasses, chatterings and slurpings of japanese on their steamy noodles or two italian men loud about their just concluded summer holidays it is like drinking tea with a mix of whisky you are finest at the break of dawn as scintillating streams of sunshine and piano notes work hand in hand to tune up the day with a good allowance of morning mist touching up your favourite bed of roses the soft breeze lifting ever so wildly the strands of hair over your forehead they move like your fingers a maestro over the ivory bars the music drives us wanting for more as the day dawn crisp and clear to spill all its goodness sparkling like metaphors of your riveting pieces