It was now just nine short years ago,

with little hand on little bow,

I started to learn the violin

with eager mind and joyous grin.

For the four years previous,

I went around and hummed and sung

The many songs, oblivious

to what my life would soon become.

The next ten years my days were filled

with practice, trips, and performance ills.

Vivaldi, Beethoven, Handle and Bach,

give me Mozart, not New Kids on the Block.

I was so mad I wanted to spit,

when I was told we could not stay.

On the top shelf it came to sit,

on my own it was not necessary to play.

Now when I look upon my axe

I feel forlorn and not relaxed,

such great things I might have done,

so many things were very fun.

So I was left to sing and trombone,

Both of which I excel,

But I can not let my self condone

The instrument I expelled.