I never learned *"The Little Bell"
nor perfected "Clair de Lune"
or studied much of Brahms, Ravel.

My choppy Chopin, Mozart mussed.
No rhapsodic Rachmaninoffs.
I turned my back on Bach at last.

I love them all yet have no heart
to memorize each masterpiece
and play back mediocrely.

Respect to those devoted souls
investing lives in ledger lines
until perfection's effortless.

These fingers fumble, float away
on melodies streamed from a mind
where notes don't always know the time

or find themselves with harmony;
they're improvised with flawed design.
At least I know this music's mine.