December 28th…“WHILE ATTENDING KIESTER, MINNESOTA PUBLIC SCHOOL, DID YOU TRY TO LEARN AN INSTRUMENT FOR THEIR BAND?”
POEM – “My Trombone, Was A Twilight Zone” by N. Elliott Noorlun
It likely happened, When they’d pass,
I’d see that sparkling, Flashing brass,
And want one for, My very own,
A golden sounding, Slide trombone.
In my dreams, I’d be the best,
With handsome horn, And sharply dressed,
To follow in, My sister’s ways,
As a band member in, Her high school days.
So timidly, I knocked on the door,
Of our great educator, Who knew the score,
Of many a show, And many a song,
Under his care, I just couldn’t go wrong.
Mr. Glende, Took me aside,
And issued me horn, That could play and slide.
He said, “The more you practice, The more you play”,
“Will make me smile, And wanna say YAY!”
At first, I blew, That horn every day,
It’d even make cows, Look up from their hay,
But then, I’d forget, Or be too busy,
Or make up excuse, That it made me dizzy.
So when it came time, For lesson in town,
Poor Mr. Glende, Could only frown.
For the sorry excuse, For notes from my horn,
Just brought me to shame, And well-deserved scorn.
My trombone became, Like a twilight zone,
To the point I was scared to play,
For fear of what, Mr. Glende would say,
As I came on my lesson day.
“It’s obvious, Elliott, You’ve not found the time”,
“To make your trombone, Sound sublime”.
“Thank you for trying, Now have a good day,”
Said dear Mr. Glende, As I went my way.
So if there is something, That challenges you,
Remember that there is, A payment due.
“Practice makes perfect”, And every day,
You’ll get closer to beauty, In every way.
Norwegian Farmer's Son 