A long time ago,
I dated a boy who used to sing songs
to me in Spanish and French.
We talked late into the night about life and love
and walked when Autumn came.
His fingers
( it seemed to me then)
were as long and as lovely as silver.
When we got back from our walks we would
drink hot coffee and laugh
and then he would play again for me.
* There are more songs Anna,
( he would say)
to play,
than
Jesus loves me.
Every time I hear a piano play now,
I
think
of
that
