Musician, let me be thine instrument!
On this fair organ, bored and turned for thee
Alone, and spaced to match thy reach, give vent
Thy strains of natural creativity.
No matter whether expert or inept
Were thy technique, or classic or baroque
Thy style, thy fingering awkward or adept,
Thou couldst not fret. Thou solely canst evoke
The mellow tenor of my register–
Most treble at thy gentle touch, not bass–
With thine enchanting. Dextrous amateur,
Thou surely couldst not play except with grace.
Rest not! Thou hast the proper pitch and key;
Swell this recorder with love’s melody.
This is another sonnet I wrote several years ago.
