Grandma's Pump Organ
© By Grady L. Duncan 
3/16/01
With delight, I am often reminded
Of an old organ in grandma's hall.
When all of us kids would play it,
You'd thought the ceilings would fall.
Someone would sit on the floor and pedal,
Making a squeaking, bumpity sound.
Others would try to play music,
If the right notes could be found.
I'm sure grandma was glad,
There wasn't a close neighbor.
The only result we could achieve,
Sounded like a woman in labor.
It's loud squeaking and squawking,
I'm sure was hard on her ears.
We never learned how to play it,
Although we had tried for years.
When grandma would tire from the noise,
She would come in and sit down,
Beginning to play so softly,
Making a beautiful sound.
Sweet music would flow so gently,
And we'd all start to sing.
I'll never forget those moments,
Nor the feelings they bring.
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