Etude

Etude

In quiet rooms where practice sighs,
A single phrase repeats its sighs—
Each note a careful, patient thread,
A weave of sound where doubts are shed.

The fingers trace the ivory keys,
Seeking the shape of elusive ease,
While metronome ticks steady beat,
A heart that learns in measured heat.

Bar by bar, the melody grows,
From stumbling starts to fluent flows,
Each sforzando, each soft piano,
A whispered lesson, soft and low.

When final chord resolves to rest,
The study lingers, never less—
An etude, more than mere exercise,
A soul’s own quiet, rising prize.