Written by Austen Grace Dellinger (see bottom of page)

I see black marks on my sheet

Meaningless to the untrained eye

Do I see scribbles

Or do I see something that could rise above Vivaldi, Handel, Bach?

My music is a battlefield

Pianissimo is the sly, the shrewd

Who looks ahead and debates what to do next

Fortissimo leaps before he looks - Bam!

I unveil my music with each note I play

I find a new meaning, a word to describe

To define the genius

The refinedness of the notes I play

Like poets

Beautiful words roll off their tongues

Like music off my fingers

I look into my music

I feel inspiration, pride, sadness, and mortification

Because my music is a battlefield

This poem was written by a child who is now ten years old. She wrote it when she was NINE!


Read more: http://www.newsobserver.com/2010/11/09/790432/pianists-ode-makes-her-a-published.html#storylink=misearch#ixzzbQz4wSwx