(originally published on Medium)
Old Pipes
Resounding percussion
from a hollow in the wall.
Faint rhythmic echoes
down the hall.
I can’t quite make out the lyrical throng
or I would happily sing along.
—
As we age, our hearing may slowly diminish. This has been a opic of several discussions between the older members of my family. So, when I asked my son what music he’d been playing down the hall and he replied he hadn’t, I wrote this poem.
We poets will find inspiration in the strangest places!
May you find your inspiration today.
Lynne
Lynne Collier 