He needed a means of coping
With the pain and suffering he had to endure
Being marred as he was by a soulless and heartless demon
So one afternoon, after watching a small parade
And for unknown reasons picking up the sounds
Created by the marching xylophone player
And then noticing the exuberant actions of said player
As he violently struck rubber-topped mallets
Upon the small, wooden bars
That created the wonderfully
Melodious interlocking tones
He found his salvation
And now he spent his days
Locked away in a small shed he built in the backyard
Practicing intricate rhythmic patterns
With energy and enthusiasm
Rigorously and vigorously
Achieving an emotional and mental satisfaction
Beyond anything he could ever imagine
No comments:
Post a Comment