The accordion says hello,
And then, I'm so sorry, and then
Goodbye. Pianos say nothing
Because no one asks anything
Of any piano-forte,
And very little of guitars,
Next to nothing of violins,
Cellos, clarinets, or flutes,
And not enough of saxophones.
The accordion asks questions
Of its own, and of its own kind,
The kinds of questions poems should ask.
Bagpipes, banjos, ukuleles,
Forever ask for forgiveness.
The harp, that sinful thing, escapes.