The Writer's Life: Film & Book Reviews, Observations, and Stories
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He dragged one leg,
Our piano tuner,
Because he’d had several strokes
After contacting a disease from a bite
That consumed his heart,
Or so he said,
But he could still tune pianos.
Hearing him work
I found myself in a Zen garden
Listening to syncopated chimes
And the soft cries of insects
Burrowing into hard wood,
And I thought
How absurdly strong
The human spirit.