The Band That Couldn’t Play

The band were clowns, or so it seemed,

Who tried to play the poems dreamed.

They blew their horns, they banged their drums,

They hummed like bees with blocked-up gums.

They groaned and moaned, they squeaked and squawked,

They stamped their feet, they shrieked and talked.

They fired melons through the air—

They burst like beans and everywhere

The seeds went flying, left and right,

One stuck upon the ceiling light.

But then the juice began to flow

And dripped on cans in rows below.

A little plop, a tiny pling,

A rusty can began to sing.

Then drip-drop, drip-drop, dribble-dee,

The cans joined in with one-two-three.

A trickle here, a trickle there,

A gurgling tune filled all the air.

The horns fell silent. No one spoke.

A snare drum gave a little croak.

Then someone giggled. Someone laughed.

The music bubbled, splashed and splaffed!

And from that glorious, juicy din

A tune emerged — and drew them in.

No score, no maestro, no grand plan:

That was how the music began!