Hey, hey, hey, Jack Frost! I see ye comin’ round the bend
With your sleigh of ice and white powder to send
With a bite of the wind and a kiss of the breeze
Hey, here comes Jack Frost! Can you not see?
He’s the one who comes each year, his eyes of creamy blue
His clothing is that of traveling frost, with white crystal shoes.

A gentle touch
A flowing hand
Upon the keys
Upon the Grand.

The notes printed
On paper so fine
Giving the song
In touching the line.

The white and black keys
Glittering so bright
The touch of smooth fingering
The music pages light.

Time ticks by
Passing five, six, seven
Practice time is almost over
Lessons at eleven.

Rushing through my Repertoire
Jogging through my scales
NYSSMA is in a week
I’m praying I don’t fail!

Guns roaring
The day is wet
Airplanes soaring
And their speeding jets.
The men sit down to say
Their prayers each day
Before they rise
Before they eat
Before they fight
Before they sleep.

Fighting for our Country
They try to survive
Yearning for freedom
Giving back our lives
Pray for them
Son or friend
Father or cousin
Because they defend
A world so bright
Learning to fight.

Note: The quotes, the places and names, all belong to C.S. Forester (Author of Horatio Hornblower books) and A&E (maker of Horatio Hornblower movies/volumes).
I didn't finish it. The rhyming got too hard, because there is so much to explain and so much that goes on.

What is a poem? Is it something to hear?
Is it something to laugh at, something to fear?
Can it have angry thoughts, or even sad?
Can it have scary thoughts, and even glad?
What is a poem? Is it something to eat?
Something that talks? Something with feet?
Does it describe the happiest things?
Fun-filled weeks? Or an Angel with wings?
Does it take you off and fly you some place –
Where you never want to leave its side again?
Can it take you off on a far away land –
Where pirates live upon the sand?

One night while sitting at a desk,
And breathing in cool air
I heard a cry from afar in the woods
The place where fools live and none care.

I looked around out of the corner of my eye
I dare not move or sound
This cry was a deathly cry
Of a creature that wants to be found.

Turning around and standing up
I shivered and held my breath
Still cold my body was from fear
A fear much closer than death.

Soon the cry came louder
And closer to my ears
I heard the tiny droplets
Of flowing blood and tears.

I heard a song one early bright morning
As I lie across the grass to pray
It sounded like angels voices
“Ave Maria, gratia plena” is what they say.

Then there came a large chorus
Like millions of angels upon the ground
I could see them and their harps of gold
Silver roses sprouted round them, I found.

The voices rang on, filling the air with sweetness
Then I saw a light, coming from where I stood
A woman more beautiful than ever
Too beautiful to explain… I would if I could!

Dear God and Mary and every Saint,
Feel my forehead…am I going to faint?
Do the dishes, empty the sink,
What does one do when they can hardly think?
Annoying and gross, yes, that is true,
But I try and I do it all for You.
It may be dirty, it may be rough,
But I’ll do it anyway, to show You my love.

I’m afraid this will take forever
As I try to explain it all
But one thing I can say
And the world will shatter
If you do not answer your call;
You were called to a place
Filled with magic and despair
You were called to a place
Where even the trees aren’t fair;
But no matter what you do
He’s breathing there with you
So don’t give up just yet
We need you now.

The Piano: Love is the ivory; the white and brown bells, the chiming. There is something so personal and quiet, but also outgoing. The piano is you, your moods and feelings. One can just look upon a Grand and say to themselves “Oh! It is a handsome piece of fittings, is it not?” But it is not a piece of furniture, however much a Steinway Grand may brighten up a Palace. Others may look upon a Grand and say to themselves “Oh! How I ache to play it and how I long to feel those keys.