(For all young men with musical aspirations)
Would you like to come up, see my strings
And etchings, quite musical you understand
Honest my intentions are and can’t you see the Wings
Like them, you’ll see that we are in a well-known band.
Unsupported though your protuberances are
I feel that under there, may be you have a voice
I’d like to hear you sing, because we’re going far
With opera together, but always of your choice
Make music through the day and all the night
So much creative energy and verily admired
Reveals our musicality, bare naked in full sight
Shows we love our instruments, so much to be desired
To be rich and famous is not what we aspire
Though we could be unhappy in our luxury
Oh, the way you sound (and move in your attire)
Sends shiver to the quiver, overloaded, sensory.
Forgive me! I veered off track, a moment there
I really need to hear you, see you every day
It’s music of another kind that makes me stare
At you. Sorry if I deceived you in this way.
Don’t leave! To my bow I really do have strings
And things, not all are musical; alas, I’ve now confessed!
Please stay, don’t go away, I really do have wings
It’s just that you can’t see them yet, aren’t you impressed?
© 2009 John Anstie
(View the author’s commentary on this poem)