Fuming into his Great Organ

Fuming into his great organ,
Henry plays the tool of boredom.
Once his spirit is unloosed,
All in earshot are reduced
To giggling secretly out of view,
Hoping that he can't see through
The thin veneer of schoolboy pride,
Which grows somewhat, then sadly dies,
If the beat becomes complex,
Or dreaming thoughts have turned to sex.
For then it is boys start to fluff,
All that heavy Brahmsian stuff !
It is much worse, and shows quite starkly
If the music is Lennox Berkeley.
For if his rhythm is not together
The fanciest glissandos will not sound clever.
All you can do is hope and pray,
That Henry's loud breathing will save the day.
For sometimes it means that errors are drowned,
With wind and air of steam-engine sound !.
And as the quintet plays from the heart,
A tinkling of tea-cups, like Cupid's sweet dart,
Is heard in the hallway to finish the sesh,
Yet sturm und drang, our lives enmesh !