Ode to the Trumpet (Sort of)
Oh Trumpet, oh Trumpet,
Your sliver exterior shines so,
(But only because I've spent the better part of my would-be life polishing you with that horrid nasty
smelling polish junk, you ungrateful little…)
*ahem*
When I start to play you,
I feel as though I can never stop,
(Except for that one time when I was dead tired from staying up late practicing and doing a
truckload of homework and I feel asleep in band while playing my trumpet. Thank God for friends
with quick reflexes or else I wouldn't have a trumpet anymore…)
*clears throat again*
The sounds that come out of you are lovely,
Like a stream of never ending music,
So peaceful, so-
(Heck, what am I saying? Half the time I'm flat, and the other half I'm sharp. And I'm lucky if my
stupid keys aren't sticking on the way up, so that they make that weird, animal-like sound. They
need to invent self-oiling keys. Yes.)
There is nothing like the feeling of performing,
The sudden rush, the wonderful anxiousness,
No, there is none to compare.
(Well, I suppose the feeling of humiliation after botching your solo in front of the entire student body
comes close. Scratch that. It passes it BIG time. Stupid, hard, Class 1 solo…)
*muttering**ahem*
And so, dear, wonderful, beautiful silver trumpet,
I finish my humble ode to your greatness.
Never again shall I abuse you or insult you;
Never again.
(Unless, of course those stupid, perverted, male wanna-be trumpet players start making fun of me.
Lovely, shiny trumpet, meet big, hard head.)
~Trmpetplaya1 ([email protected])
Oh Trumpet, oh Trumpet,
Your sliver exterior shines so,
(But only because I've spent the better part of my would-be life polishing you with that horrid nasty
smelling polish junk, you ungrateful little…)
*ahem*
When I start to play you,
I feel as though I can never stop,
(Except for that one time when I was dead tired from staying up late practicing and doing a
truckload of homework and I feel asleep in band while playing my trumpet. Thank God for friends
with quick reflexes or else I wouldn't have a trumpet anymore…)
*clears throat again*
The sounds that come out of you are lovely,
Like a stream of never ending music,
So peaceful, so-
(Heck, what am I saying? Half the time I'm flat, and the other half I'm sharp. And I'm lucky if my
stupid keys aren't sticking on the way up, so that they make that weird, animal-like sound. They
need to invent self-oiling keys. Yes.)
There is nothing like the feeling of performing,
The sudden rush, the wonderful anxiousness,
No, there is none to compare.
(Well, I suppose the feeling of humiliation after botching your solo in front of the entire student body
comes close. Scratch that. It passes it BIG time. Stupid, hard, Class 1 solo…)
*muttering**ahem*
And so, dear, wonderful, beautiful silver trumpet,
I finish my humble ode to your greatness.
Never again shall I abuse you or insult you;
Never again.
(Unless, of course those stupid, perverted, male wanna-be trumpet players start making fun of me.
Lovely, shiny trumpet, meet big, hard head.)
~Trmpetplaya1 ([email protected])