OBOIST




She put it to her lips and blew,
But not a single note came through.
She checked it over, tried again,
And managed just a small squeak then.

Next, her cheeks, she filled up with air,
And puffed as hard as she would dare.
Saliva flew, yet no notes blew,
But why? The girl had not a clue.

She peered into the oboe next,
The puzzled youngster growing vexed.
Inside, there was nothing to see,
Its construction, a mystery.

She tapped it gently on the floor,
Then picked it up and tried once more.
But, again, hearing not one peep,
She dropped it and began to weep.

Her mother asked her why she cried,
The little girl, through sobs, replied,
"This oboe will not make a sound."
Mother smiled and turned it around.


© Richard McCusker



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