The Would-be Drummer
From Sawiki
My father sits up with the band,
'N' I sit down below.
Teddy's dad is up there too,
'N' Billy's dad. 'N' so
We sit as proud as we can be
Right in the frontest row!
Teddy's daddy beats the drum,
You ought to hear it boom;
Sometimes he throws his drumstick down
'N' 'stead of a big zoom
We hear the tinkle of a bell
A-sailin' through the room.
An' Teddy's eyes get big an' wide
An' all us boys begin
To swing our legs and punch the air.
If we was out, not in,
The 'cited way us fellows feel,
We'd make an awful din.
Billy's 'pop' is big an' high,
He plays a trombone slim.
When he gets through a-shovin' it,
It's 'most as long as him.
First he pulls it out real slow,
Then out some more with vim.
Then us boys puff our cheeks out fat,
An' do not look about;
We press our lips upon one fist,
An' shoot the other out;
One day I slided out too far,
On Teddy's head - an' did he shout!
Then we was glad the big band blared,
So all our noise was drowned,
'Cause if I speak the leastest word
My mother looks around,
'N' shakes her finger, till I wish
I'd sink right in the ground.
My daddy waves a little stick,
An' stands up straight an' tall,
An' when he doesn't move his arms,
The band don't play at all,
But just sits list'ning, quiet-like,
To what goes on in our hall.
I like the way his fingers move,
An' point an' seem to bring
The lovely music from the horns,
An' make the trombones sing;
But when I'm big I'll beat a drum,
'N' drown out everything!
Catherine Baird
