Ode to Recorder

Oh, where art thou, Recorder?

A painful tooting flute

It was a rule, to learn in school

How to toot and execute

Three blind mice and Eidelweiss

Diligently I would play

Practicing, squawking daily

Doors slammed closed, loud moans and groans

Parents cried, just horrified

Them in the dark, no love of Bach.

Perhaps a bigger tool now needed

Such amazing progress

A rounder sound, joy will abound

A Base I’d press, huge crowds impressed

With toots down low, gusto and blow.

The base and tenor helped me not

Doors still closed and slammed

Great thoughts of self, shared by no one else

Dreams of bands, destined as damned

My parents cheered, I’d saved their ears.

I quit!