Can I be?
Is there the slightest possibility?
With fingers crossed and eyes shut tight,
while wishing on right-side-up pennies.
But for what, and how, and when?
And does it matter?

Who am I?
An organ in need of tuning?
Played on Sundays;
Played for musings.
And somehow loved unconditionally,
Despite my pitch.
Or maybe for it...

Straightforwardly: I breathe deeply.
And that has to be enough.