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.