Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53
The last gold of evening
lingered
upon the piano keys
after the music
had already ended—
I come back to the old piano
my mother used to play
her etudes and concertos,
the ivory keys
yellowed by time—
suddenly I hear
the ecstatic pounding
of Chopin’s Polonaise
in A-Flat Major—
my mother’s hands
striking the old piano
long after evening
had darkened
D. G. Vachal © 2026
Accompanying image created with AI assistance
lilies, sparrows and grass 
The richness of memory tied to music — 🎶 this is poignant and hear-stirring, D ✨💛
Thank you so much, Susan. Music has a mysterious way of carrying memory across time, and I am grateful these words found their way to you. 💫✨🧡
Beautiful sentiment and tribute to your mother… full of grace, Dee!! Drenched in feeling.
Thank you so much, dear Ellen. This piece came from a deeply personal place of memory, so your kind words mean a lot to me. ✨💛
How lovely!💫💛
🧡
From your poem, I could see the piano and hear the music. Carolyn
Thank you so much, Carolyn. That means a lot to me. I hoped the poem might carry a little of the music and atmosphere with it. I’m so glad you could hear and see it.