He carried his piano up eight flights of stairs, I heard,
On his back, all alone.
It was the first thing he brought to his new apartment,
Before his bed, which he rarely slept in,
Before his couch and chairs, which he rarely sat on,
Even before the cage that his pet canary lived in.
Supposedly he said he owed it to the piano,
That it would have done the same for him if it could.
For, you see, they had wept for the same sorrows
And laughed for the same joys.
They say when he finally got it up there,
He played, and made all the neighbors pause
And thank the heavens for their luck.
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