The Organ Underground

or The Keys to the Caverns

In caverns vast, the grand pipes ring,
Beneath the earth — where crawls the thing.
In tunnels broad, the bellows breathe,
Where fingers dance and dart and weave
Across the keys — notes sharp enough to cleave.

The organ built into the stone
Does not make music all alone.
For when the boy sits down to play,
Out comes the thing from deep away,
The thing that yearns to hear and smell the day.

It feels the thrumming through its claws
And tastes the notes in its many maws.
It lingers in the mellifluous lustre
As the boy plays, faster and faster,
Teaching the thing to know and to love its master.