It looked out of place I thought for a moment,

And I wondered why was it there?

Then thought how it actually makes perfect sense,

Now that I see it so clear.

The ocean makes music, Sweet to the ear,

It sways and it dances with the wind and the sand,

It rolls and it twists to make sounds and rhythms,

And plays with the rocks and turtles and fishes.

If I could define the sound of the ocean to someone who had never been,

If I could define the music it makes with no other way to compare,

A baby grande might be my choice that could capture that sound perhaps,

Yes, buried in sand, and wrapped in the sun,

A baby grande might be the one,

The instrument that is caressed with the hand,

Of the creator that loves it,

And talks throughout it, in a voice only he can give it.

He shares the message he wants to convey,

He soothes the soul of a weary day,

The sound in itself is only a sound,

It takes the creators love of the art to bring it to life.

To bring a tear to the eye or a lump to the throat.

To bind the wound of the broken heart, to sort out the tornado of thoughts.

And make that sound an instrument of use,

to soothe the soul of the one who hears it.

The ocean wave and the baby grande,

Both whisper a song and capture the slam,

Both make music sweet to the ear,

Both can bring life to the one who hears.