By the Local Post Box. (Revised).

Meeting an ex pupil of mine after nearly 26 years, 

Then a child struggling with Album fur die Jugend,

Now a young woman, coolly walking her dachshund,

Schumann off her mind, husband at home fixing something,

But still the same voice,

Still the same awkward mannerisms,

Still the same keeping her distance

As though, once being her teacher, my pedestal remained

                                                                            unbroken,

A marble plinth too high for her to climb.

But still the questioning eyes,

Still the openness that was not really open,

Still the same quiet respect, the almost filial love

That left me strangely scared, exposed to ridicule

Because I feared I knew less than she thought, and that others

                                                              should have taught her.

She mentioned she has a daughter

Who cant keep away from the keyboard.

I had to admit I can no longer teach piano,

My fingers have lost dexterity, I can no longer stretch them wide.

Trevor John Karsavin Potter.

July 24th. - 28th. 2021.